Saving Draco
by RainCityWriter
Summary: This story explores the idea of Harry being granted guardianship of Draco after the final battle in lieu of him being executed. This story will deal with grief and PTSD. There will be disciplinary spanking of adults/teens and talk of abuse, no slash.
1. Chapter 1 - The Tribunal

_Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are merely borrowed_

 _AN: This is different from my other work, but has been a story rattling around in my brain for a while. This takes place after the last battle, and deals with the aftermath of the fall of Voldemort. In this story, the characters are of age and are trying to figure out life as young adults. Due to the ages of the people and the subject matter, it is a little darker. Please let me know what you think. Also, when I am writing a story I usually update it every day, and I'm intending to do that with this story too._

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Harry approached the Ministry of Magic with trepidation. He was still deciding whether or not he should be here, and several times he had decided to turn back. But he reluctantly turned back towards the Ministry. As Hermione would call it, his "helping people" thing was too strong to ignore. And the guilt he felt about the letter he had received from Narcissa still burned. Especially the part where she had written, "You owe me a life, I lied to the Dark Lord to spare yours. It is not enough of a good act to save my own life, but I am hoping that your sense of honor will pay me back with the life of my son."

Harry wasn't even sure it was possible. He knew that if anybody could save Draco it would be him, perhaps cashing in on his status as a war hero. He had read about the war trials as they happened, and had read the seemingly endless list of the accused, the convicted, and the executed. Because the Dementors were no longer considered reliable guards for Azkaban after their defection and release of dark wizards just prior to the war, prison looked much different for the accused. They were held in holding cells with special wards to prevent magic, and if they were sentenced to prison and not execution they still went to Azkaban. It had been repaired, and was mostly run by squibs. Wards and a magical warden kept the prisoners in line, but this also made the judicial trials much more bent towards execution for those dark wizards they felt dangerous.

Harry had received the letter from Narcissa the day before, and had seen that the Malfoy families were slated for trial on the next day. Hermione and Ron had stayed up with him all night trying to find out a way to save Draco. Ron had been less than enthusiastic, but even he had finally given in that Draco shouldn't be killed for what his parents did. And then, in the wee hours of the morning, Hermione had hit upon an ancient wizarding tradition that just might work. But of course, it would only work for Harry. And even then the chances were slim, they were going to invoke a tradition that hadn't been used in 100 years. Most people on the wizengamot probably had never even heard of it.

Harry walked in, trying to ignore the whispers and pointing that always seemed to follow him around. He wished he had had at least Hermione with him, but they had decided it would look better if it was just him. He straightened his suit and tie, and walked purposefully towards the trial.

Harry slipped in the back of the trial in time to hear the verdict for Lucius and Narcissa; guilty and sentenced to death. They were allowed to give testimony for their son's trial, so their execution was scheduled for the end of the day after Draco's trial. Harry had seen many trials on television, and they always seemed to take weeks or years, especially murder trials. The war trials, however, were short and perfunctory and rarely lasted more than a few hours. And instead of being overseen by the entire Wizengamot, it was presided over by a special military tribunal.

"What is the evidence against the accused?" the judge asked.

The prosecuting attorney, or whatever the magical equivalent was, listed off Draco's crimes in a bored voice. He had participated in torture and terrorism, in casting unforgivables and in plotting to kill Dumbledore. Harry wasn't surprised by any of the charges. But he was surprised by Draco.

Draco stood in the witness box by himself, his skin almost as pale as his hair. He looked rumpled and skinny, with the casual elegance that he normally exuded completely gone. Instead he was bedraggled and beaten, and his eyes looked like smudges as he looked at the judge, awaiting his sentence. Harry realized what was so disturbing - the young man looked hopeless. He looked as if there was nothing good left for him, and he was only waiting for his execution.

The prosecution took little time, the evidence was massive and irrefutable. His interrogation using Veritas Serum the week before had sealed his fate, he had admitted to everything from Dumbledore to taking the Dark Mark. The prosecution rested.

The defense was perfunctory at best, the lawyer charged with defending death eaters had become discouraged as client after client had been executed. She barely bothered with Draco, the evidence was overwhelming and very damning. She would use what little energy and leverage she may have to try and win a case that was actually winnable. Clearly, this one was not; so she said some words about Draco's young age and this prosecution being a "witchhunt" and rested her case.

The judge then asked if anybody in the court wanted to speak for the accused. Nobody really ever did, being afraid to be labeled a death eater themselves, so the judge announced it in a bored voice without a glance at the courtroom. But then she heard the startled gasps and whispers spread throughout her courtroom, and she looked up in surprise. Harry Potter was standing in her court, patiently awaiting recognition.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Potter," the judge said. "The prosecution has already rested."

"I would like to speak for the accused," Harry told her, clearing his throat.

"Please, come up," she invited, in shock. Why would the savior of the wizarding community involve himself with a death eater?

Harry settled himself in the witness chair, and was uncomfortably reminded when he sat in that chair as the accused himself. He looked at the faces of the wizengamot tribunal, and cleared his throat again. "I know that Draco Malfoy's crimes are many," he told the group. "And I know under the new standards and codes that he is deserving of death. But I am asking for mercy for him, and to invoke the ancient tradition of Familiari."

"What is that?" the judge asked, confused.

"It means 'family authority,'" Harry explained. "It is an ancient right of a young wizard's family if he or she should run afoul of the law. It has been a traditional method for use if the wizard is between the ages of 17 and 21, and if there is belief that he or she is able to be rehabilitated."

"How does it work?" the judge asked.

"He will be put under the authority of a relative," Harry explained. "He would have his wand and his rights as an adult revoked. For all intents and purposes he would legally be like a pre-Hogwarts child. The relative would use his authority to then try and rehabilitate the young adult. The boundaries are very clear, and punishments for going beyond those boundaries are clear and prescribed."

"What relative are you proposing?" the judge asked.

"Me," Harry answered, sending the room twittering. "I am a relative of Draco's both distantly through the Potter line and more directly through the Black line, which I am the only heir."

"Do you think yourself up for this task?" one of the wizards on the tribunal asked.

"I do," Harry answered. "We have all seen so much destruction from this war. I'm sure all of you are sick to death of doing the necessary task of ridding death eaters from our community. I know that I am, and all I do is read the list in the paper every day." Harry took a deep breath, and then looked at the wizengamot directly. "I just want to have the chance to help an old classmate of mine. If I had been born into his circumstances instead of mine I would be in his same boat."

"But you saved the wizarding world!" one of the wizards protested.

"And so did Narcissa Malfoy," Harry told them. "She lied to Voldemort and told him that I was dead when I wasn't. But she is going to be executed tonight."

"We need a recess to discuss this," the judge said. "The Wizengamot tribunal will confer."

Harry took his seat in the courtroom again and watched as they filed out. He watched Draco carefully, seeing what his reaction was to what he had said. Draco stood in the box, unaffected, and allowed the guard to take him by his cuffed hands and lead him out. Just as he left the room, though, his eyes rose for a brief moment and locked on Harry's eyes. Harry couldn't tell what emotion was in those eyes, but he felt stricken by those eyes. He suddenly found himself hoping that their plan would actually work, not just be the attempt to satisfy his honor debt with Narcissa.

Within an hour the tribunal reconvened. Harry knew they had other cases on their docket today, they wanted to clear it quickly. Afraid that meant that they would turn him down, Harry bit his lip in nervousness. He tried to read the faces of the wizards as they filed back into the seats, and he found them inscrutable.

Harry saw Draco being led back in, still looking beaten but having the slightest bit of hope. He looked at his parents, and his mother nodded at him. He looked down. The once-proud Slytherin did indeed look haggard and gaunt, hunted and beaten. Harry thought about the first time he'd seen Draco at school, when he had very rudely invited him to be his friend. That had been so long ago, they had just been children. And now look at where they were.

The judge glanced at her fellow wizengamot, and then looked at Draco. "Draco Malfoy, please stand," she directed. He obeyed, and she continued. "Today we have before us a proposal to invoke the ancient rite of Familiari. With this proposal, you will be under the guardianship of Mr. Harry Potter for a period of no less than 7 years. You will be deprived of your wand for at least the first year of that, and you will be supervised and disciplined by Mr. Potter the entire seven years. If he grows tired of this supervision, you will be returned for your original sentence."

"What does the supervision look like, madame judge?" his lawyer asked, curious. This was definitely the most interesting thing that had happened in court for a while.

"The rules for this type of Familiari were set centuries ago," the judge explained. "So it may seem somewhat old-fashioned for modern tastes. It's possible to modify the rules somewhat after the first year, but for the first year the Wizengamot has ruled that it must follow the rules as set out. This includes a strict code of behavior for the miscreant, rehabilitory activities, and prescribed punishments. Many of the prescribed punishments involve corporal punishments."

If possible, Draco became even paler at that suggestion. Harry was afraid that he might faint, but he stayed standing. He looked at his mother, who gave him a slight nod, and then he looked away.

"Do you have any questions, Mr. Malfoy?" the judge asked.

"Can Mr. Potter abuse me?" he asked quietly.

"He will be allowed to discipline you as he sees fit," the judge answered. "He can choose to be quite severe. But if you require medical attention we will review the case."

"After seven years, will I be free?" he asked again in that same soft voice.

"You will likely require some sort of supervision after that," the judge told him. "But if you have been deemed rehabilitated then you will no longer be required to live with Mr. Potter. But make no mistake, Mr. Malfoy, most of us assume this will fail. We are only allowing this ancient rite as a nod to Mr. Potter's war hero status. In order to do this, you have to agree to cooperate with your rehabilitation, and submit to Mr. Potter's authority. You will find yourself in the position of a ten year old wizard with a stern guardian. Are you prepared to do this?"

Malfoy, looking down, replied, "Yes, I will."

The judge, looking satisfied, looked at Harry. "Mr. Potter, do you solemnly swear by your wizard's oath that you will do your duty of rehabilitating Draco Malfoy to the best of your ability? To follow the guidelines without shirking, and to not try and make this easier on Draco Malfoy than it is supposed to be?"

"I swear," Harry answered.

"Do you swear to care for Draco Malfoy as if he was your own son, providing for him physically as well as guiding him emotionally and developmentally?"

"I swear," Harry agreed.

"Then you may take him home," the judge rapped. "We are going to leave on his prisoner's bracelet, which will act for the protection of others as well as a monitoring device. The ministry will have access to everything Draco Malfoy says, does, hears, and sees. There will of course be strict confidentiality guards for things such as where you live, Mr. Potter, as we understand your home is unmappable."

"Thank you, madame," Harry nodded his head.

"The bracelet will also alarm if Draco is either not in your home or within 100 feet of you, Harry," the judge told him. "If it should alarm, Mr. Potter, you need to touch it within five minutes, or the bracelet will disable Draco."

"Disable him?"

"The bracelet will render him unconscious," the judge told him. "It will also happen if he's violent, touches a wand, or is otherwise deemed dangerous. Do you understand, Mr. Potter?"

"I do," he answered quietly.

"We will review this decision in one month from today," the judge announced. "We will determine if the prisoner is responding to the Familiari rite or if we need to take a more traditional route."

"I understand," Harry answered.

"Unlock the prisoner," she directed. "He is now in Mr. Potter's custody."


	2. Chapter 2 - Home

_Disclaimer: This is based on the characters created by JK Rowling, and I do not own them nor profit from them._

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Draco followed Harry silently as they left the courtroom, his head bowed. Harry wondered if he felt embarrassment or if he was past that yet. He was certainly brought low from the arrogant young aristocrat that Harry knew in school. Harry silently led Draco over to the floo, and stepped in the fireplace with him.

"Number 12 Grimmauld place," he announced clearly, and they were off.

When they arrived, they found Ron and Hermione waiting for them. Hermione burst out in a smile when she saw Draco, saying, "It worked! You saved him!"

"For now," Harry said, stepping into the kitchen. "We have a lot to live up to. The tribunal is out for blood, they made it very clear they want him punished. We are going to have our work cut out for us."

"I'll bet you can't bloody wait," Draco said quietly, looking down. "I'll bet you've dreamed all along that you could be in this position over me."

"Get one thing straight right now, Malfoy," Harry told him firmly. "I've done you a huge favor, and it did it for your mother's sake. Being your guardian wasn't exactly high on my list of fun things to do. It's going to be hard for both of us, but if we can cooperate then maybe you get to live. You know that court was going to give you the death sentence, don't you?"

Draco didn't answer verbally, but he nodded.

"Right, so if at any point you decide you want to go back I will take you. Otherwise, let's get through this as best we can, right?"

Draco nodded.

"First, let's show you your room. You look exhausted, and are you hungry?"

Draco nodded mutely.

"I'll have Kreacher make us some sandwiches then to tide us over to dinner. I admit, I didn't get lunch either. Kreacher?"

"Yes, Master Harry."

"Could you get us some tea with sandwiches and biscuits?" Harry asked politely. "We'll eat in the sitting room."

"Very well, Master," Kreacher answered, then set to work on preparing their food.

"Come with me, Malfoy," Harry told him. "Let me show you your room. Do you have any other clothes?"

"No," Draco answered shortly. "All my possessions are forfeit."

"I see," Harry said gravely. "We will have to remedy that. For tonight you can borrow pajamas from me, we're almost the same size. Follow me."

Draco followed him through the house, his nose crinkling at the general state of untidiness. Harry noticed, and said, "We've been working on making the house not-evil," Harry explained. "There were a lot of dark things left her from the Black family. We've done a lot of work and managed to clear out the bad stuff, we're working on making it homey again."

"Doesn't your house-elf do this work?" Draco asked.

"He's old," Harry shrugged. "And not particularly inclined to do too much. I'm just happy he cooks."

Draco, shaking his head at the lax treatment of the house elf, followed Harry up the stairs. Harry led him to a smallish but comfortable room, which looked like it had been hastily cleaned and decorated in Slytherin's silver and green.

"Hermione tried to make it homey," Harry gestured. "We hadn't figured out a way to save you until quite early this morning, actually. And we didn't really think it was going to work, but Hermione decided to prepare a room for you just in case."

Draco didn't really know what to say, the mudblood had seen to his comfort? Worked on saving him from execution? Was he supposed to be grateful now to her? He wasn't even sure he knew how to do that.

"I'll make sure you have pajamas laid out for you," Harry told him. "You're going to need to share a bathroom with Ron and me, though. It's the room right next to you. We gave Hermione the room with her own bathroom because, well, she's a girl."

"This is much better than prison," Draco told him.

"I'd hope so," Harry laughed. "Let's go see if Kreacher as tea ready, shall we?"

Harry had intended to talk to Draco over tea about house rules and expectations, but he looked so forlorn that Harry hesitated. Draco looked as if he wished he could just be so miserable as not to eat, but that his time in prison had taught him to eat when food was offered. He ate in a perfunctory way, not enjoying his food at all. _Well,_ Harry told himself, _he was going to just have to do it._

"Malfoy," Harry addressed him. "We should have a talk on what this guardianship is going to look like."

"I suppose," Draco answered.

"First off, we're supposed to be like family. So Ron, Hermione and I are going to call you Draco. According to the rules, you are supposed to call me 'Sir,' but you can call Ron and Hermione by their first names. You are supposed to afford me the same respect you would show your father."

"Yes, sir," he answered, bristling only a little. Prison really had taken a lot of his pride.

"The rules are pretty simple, or simple if you're picturing living in a strict wizarding fuedal home 300 years ago," Harry said, handing him a parchment. "Hermione has copied it all down for you to look over. Basically, you must show respect at all times, obey whatever I tell you to do, ask permission for everything, and be a good boy. We will work on rehabilitory activities over the next week or two. Oh, and no calling anybody a mudblood or a blood traitor. Questions?"

Draco looked over the list critically, and said, "I'm supposed to greet you with a head nod?"

"Apparently," Harry told him. "Now, as unpleasant as it is, we need to talk about punishments as well."

"Punishments?" Draco asked, looking pale.

"It's all part of the rules," Harry told him firmly. "And the tribunal was very clear about wanting you punished. I'm afraid they're making us do the traditional punishments, which are almost all corporal for this stage in the guardianship."

"You're going to cane me, Po . . . Sir?" he asked, incredulous.

"Well, actually, we were hoping to not use the cane," Harry told him. "Hermione's done some research, and apparently a paddle is more humane. It causes pain, but does not leave welts and bruises like the cane does. Apparently they use it in America in schools that use corporal punishment."

"Do you think I'm just going to bend over and let you whale my arse?" he sneered. "Like an _American_?" Apparently, getting some food into him raised his courage a little.

"Just be glad you're still alive, mate," Ron told him. "Harry won't be too hard on ya."

"If the ministry thinks I'm too soft on you they won't let you stay," Harry told him seriously. "This is not easy on either of us, but we must follow the rules as best we can. I would be very happy never to paddle you, but it's more your choice than mine. I will give you concessions though; as much as possible I will punish you privately, and nobody will be allowed to punish you but me. If Ron or Hermione notice bad behavior while I am gone I will deal with it when I get back."

"You're loving this, Potter," Draco sneered, glaring at the three. "You and filthy mudblood friends . . ."

"Go to your room," Harry calmly ordered him. "If you go now you only get three with the paddle."

"I'm not a bloody child!" Draco yelled.

"Four," Harry told him calmly. "Look, Draco, I have a wand and you don't. When I get tired of counting you're going to get hexed and stuck to the table and I will paddle you here. I'm giving you the option of privacy. I suggest you take it."

Draco, still furious, also realized that Harry was serious. He had also suffered enough maltreatment in the last few months to know when he'd been beaten and when pride was just a foolish indulgence that can get you hurt more. He stomped upstairs.

"Well, it didn't take him long to test me on that," Harry said, rubbing his hair and making it stand up on end.

"Are you really going to do it, mate?" Ron asked him, looking a little eager and a little sick. "It just seems so . . . I don't know . . ."

"Cruel," Hermione supplied for him, but it was not the word Ron was thinking of. "It is brutally unfair that the ministry is making you do this, Harry. But you know you have to."

"I know," Harry said. "Let's figure out what kind of paddle works best and transform something into it. That should give Draco a few minutes to calm down. I don't relish being punched."

"This has got to be hard for him, Harry," Hermione reminded him. "He's lost everything."

"I know," Harry told her, looking vulnerable. "But we're trying to save his life. And if I have to cause him a little pain to do that, then so be it."

"Don't worry, Harry," Ron told him. "I've gotten the paddle or the wooden spoon many times and I've lived through it. It won't kill him, just smart a bit."

"Here, Harry," Hermione said, transforming the newspaper into a longish wooden paddle. "I believe this is the prescribed instrument."

"How hard do I do it?" Harry asked, weighing the paddle in his hand. "I've never done something like this before."

"You can try it out on me," Ron told him, standing up and bending over the table.

"What?" Hermione squeaked, shocked.

"Oh come on," Ron told her, rolling his eyes. "This is not a big deal. If Harry doesn't get an idea for it he'll give Draco a few taps and be done. I'm ensuring that he gets a proper paddling."

"Do I hold it like this?" Harry asked, hefting it.

"Yes, now give me a whack," Ron told him.

Hesitantly, Harry whacked Ron's backside.

"Just as I thought," Ron rolled his eyes. "My great aunt Muriel can whack harder than that. Now do it properly."

Harry, blushing, drew it back a little farther for the whack. The crack echoed throughout the kitchen.

"Better," Ron told him, considering. "Draw it back further this time."

Harry let the third one fly, and it connected solidly with Ron's backside and elicited a startled yelp from the redhead. "Blimey, Harry, that was almost as good as my mum," he told him, rubbing his backside and grinning. "Four of those ought to see Malfoy right."

"Will that really be what it's like?" Hermione asked, paling.

"Just focus on the fact that it's better than him being executed," Harry told her quietly. "That's what I'm doing."


	3. Chapter 3 - The Basics

_AN: As always, I don't own, just borrow. After today we go back to the once a day update. :)_

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Harry mounted the stairs with trepidation. He would be lying if his younger self wasn't a little pleased to be able to exact some justice against the boy who had made his school days miserable. But, he would rather have beaten him in a fair fight, this was not at all what he actually wanted.

He walked in the room, and found Draco sitting on the bed, looking down.

"I'm sorry we've had to do this so soon," Harry told him. "Let's get it over with. Do you want to bed over the bed or the chair?"

"Really, Potter?" Draco drawled. "No lecture?"

"I think you know what you did," Harry told him firmly. "You have thirty seconds to present yourself for your punishment or I do it with magic."

Draco made a face, and then stood up, resigned. He bent over the bed, trying to look as if he didn't care, but Harry saw him eyeing the paddle in his hand. "How do you want my trousers?" Draco asked, trying to sound as if he didn't care, but Harry could hear the hitch in his voice.

"Leave them on," Harry told him firmly. There would be none of that unless he had to do it.

Harry let him lay like that for a few moments, feeling the humiliation of the position. Now was the time to lecture. "Draco, you have to follow the rules. If you don't you will be sent back."

"What do you care, Potter?" he spat.

"Apparently I care more than you," Harry answered calmly. "I know it's going to be hard, and I know that the last few months have been hard on you. But you have to cooperate with us."

"You have no idea what hard is," Draco spat at him, but his voice also sounded a little sad. "You won, remember?"

"Trust me, Draco," Harry told him with feeling. "I know what hard is too. But fighting and deliberately disobeying me is going to make your life harder, not easier. If the ministry thinks I can't control you they will cancel this guardianship, and then where will you be?"

Draco didn't answer, knowing Harry was right.

"Count the strokes, Draco," Harry told him, positioning himself beside the prone young man. Harry, concentrating to make the blows as hard as Ron had told him, let the first one smack against Draco's upturned backside.

"One, sir," Draco told him through clenched teeth. It had hurt more than he was expecting. Draco counted to four, gripping the blanket on the bed and gritting his teeth. On the fourth whack he felt tears form in his eyes, to his complete horror. Blinking them back, he stayed down on the bed waiting for Harry to release him.

"You may get up," Harry told him softly, and seated himself in Draco's desk chair. He felt like throwing up, but tried to remain stern and unaffected.

Draco rose, and then curled up in bed. After the day he had, and then being punished by his enemy like he was a child, he just wanted everything to go away and pretend that he didn't exist. Even Harry's kindness had been hard to take, he wondered if it would have been easier if Harry had beaten him bloody with a cane.

"I'm sure that hurt quite a bit," Harry told him sympathetically.

"Where did you learn to do that?" Draco asked sarcastically.

"Ron showed me," Harry answered with a laugh. "He even let me try it out on him so I wouldn't be too lenient with you."

"You weren't," Draco told him. "Those were decent strokes."

"You know I had to do it," Harry told him carefully.

"You also seemed to enjoy it a little," Draco accused him darkly.

"Would you enjoy whacking me if our positions were reversed?" Harry asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Yes," Draco answered with an evil smile. "I would."

"I'm enjoying keeping you out of prison," Harry shot back. "And probably executed."

Draco was quiet for a moment, and then asked in a quiet voice, "Do you think it's done yet? I mean, my parents . . ."

"They do the executions after the court is done for the day," Harry told him. "It will probably be in the next hour or so."

"How do they . . .?"

"A potion," Harry answered. "It's supposed to be quick and painless."

"That's good," Draco said. "It's hard to believe that they're going to be gone."

"Yes, it is," Harry agreed. He didn't know what to say, what do you say to someone whose parents are about to die? He was at a loss, and the paddle in his hand felt horrific. He banished it to his room. "Would you like me to stay with you while, well, you know."

"I'd rather be alone," Draco told him.

"I'll have an elf bring you up dinner," Harry told him. "I'll come check on you later."

"You don't have to," Draco told him.

"I know," Harry answered. "I want to."

Downstairs, Harry had dinner with Ron and Hermione and explained everything that happened at the trial. Even with everything that Lucius had done to them (and Ginny!) over the years, it was still a very somber mood at dinner. Harry just tried to make sure his friends didn't see his hands shake, disciplining Draco had deeply disturbed him.

"Blimey, Harry, you had to punish him just before his parents died," Rom mumbled, considering his mashed potatoes.

"I did," Harry admitted. "But we both know I had to. I never would have believed this, but I feel sorry for Draco. It must be awful knowing your parents are about to die."

"Even if they are complete gits," Ron agreed.

"This is the time for us to be brave," Hermione said quietly. "All of us. You heard what Harry said, the ministry expects us to fail, maybe even wants us to. They want the death eaters executed and gone, or at least punished harshly. We must be careful."

"Should we have just let him be executed?" Harry asked, feeling defeated. "I really don't know if I am up for this."

"We need to give it our best shot, mate," Ron assured him. "Even if it is for a prat like Malfoy. I mean, we've all seen how the ministry keeps changing; who knows where they will be next year? Right now people want blood, they want to get revenge for all the fear and the death we've had. Hell, I feel it about my . . . brother. But the way they're executing everyone . . . no, we need to do what we can to save the prat."

"We're here to support you," Hermione said, patting Harry's hand. "We'll do all we can. But really it's going to be up to you for a lot of it."

"At least if we fail," Harry said firmly. "We will have given it our best shot. First, we need to figure out the stuff he needs. I think we need to get him some clothes and other basics."

"Maybe we should go out to muggle shops for that," Hermione suggested. "He will be unpopular in wizard areas for a while."

"What if he runs away?" Ron asked, concerned.

"The bracelet will render him unconscious," Harry reminded him. "He has to be within 100 feet of me."

"Just to be safe, let's put a tracer spell on him," Hermione confirmed.

"And what about rehabilitation?" Harry asked. "I have no clue for that."

"The stuff I read suggests housework to start off with," Hermione told him. "Perhaps working up to having a job or training outside the home. I'm not sure how that would work with the bracelet, maybe we should do housework for now."

"I can't see that git slaving like a house elf," Ron chuckled. "I think he's going to chuck a scrub brush at the first person to suggest it."

"He has to," Harry told him. "He has to cooperate or this isn't going to work. We're the good guys here, remember?"

"Tell that to him," Ron countered. "He's going to resent us, Harry."

"Well, at least he will be alive to do so," Harry quipped, taking another bite of the roast beef. "I think for the first year, if we can keep him alive, we have achieved our goal. Helping him become a decent human being can be our task later."

When Harry came to check on Draco later, he noticed that Draco had at least attempted to eat some dinner. He knew from his time at the Dursleys that if you've ever been starved, you eat when there's food even if you don't feel emotionally like you want to. But you do it to survive.

"Are you okay, Draco?" he asked.

"What do you think?" Draco snapped at him.

Harry, sighing, sat down on the chair. "I think I would be a mess if I were you," he answered.

Draco snorted, still not looking at Harry.

"There is one more consequence for your behavior," Harry told him carefully.

"What?" Draco asked, his body stiffening.

"You will apologize to Hermione tomorrow."

"And if I don't?"

"Then you will receive another four strokes at bedtime tomorrow," Harry told him evenly.

Draco remained silent, but nodded.

"I'm sorry you lost your parents, Draco," Harry told him.

"You hated them," Draco told him acidly, but with a brittleness that made him sound very near tears. "You don't have to be sorry."

"I did have issues with your dad," Harry admitted. "But I still do feel badly about you losing him. And your mum. She saved your life, you know."

"She asked you to do this?"

"Yes," Harry answered simply. "She saved my life once, and she asked in return for me to try and save yours. The rite of Familiari was the only thing we could come up with."

"I should have died with them."

"They wanted you to live," Harry told him. "I would bet it gave your mum peace in the end to think that you might survive this."

Draco sniffed a little. "Do you think so?"

"I do," Harry told him. "My mom died protecting me, I would assume that your mom would do the same thing. And she did."

Draco sniffed again. "Thanks, Potter," he said. "I'll be fine."

Harry, recognizing the dismissal for what it was, left the room quietly. "Good night, Draco," he said quietly.

Draco didn't answer until the door was closed and he was sure that Harry couldn't hear. "Good night, Harry."


	4. Chapter 4 - The New Normal

_AN: I do not own these characters but love working with them._

Harry had insisted that Draco come down for breakfast, and he had very nearly refused. Very nearly, however, but he ended up doing it. He did want Harry to give him the business end of the paddle again, it had been humiliating. He had resigned himself to cooperating just enough to avoid the consequences. So, he donned the only clothes he had and joined them. As he buttoned his shirt, he grimaced at how much the fabric flapped around him. These were the clothes he had been arrested in, after being on the run for weeks. He had never had any spare fat on his lithe frame, but prison had whittled down even his already slender body. They had let him wear his clothes instead of his prison uniform for the trial, but they had barely fit. One of the guards had taken pity on him and shrank the pants enough to stay on, as they would not allow him a belt. Such a far cry from the elegant clothes his mother had insisted he wear, he thought bitterly.

"Hi Draco," Hermione greeted him at the breakfast table.

Draco mumbled a reply, and then caught the sharp glare of Potter. Fine, very well, he would apologize.

"I am sorry, Miss Granger, for my use of a deplorable word in front of you yesterday," Draco formally told her, bowing slightly. "I am ashamed of my uncouth manners."

"It's not your manners that got you into trouble, mate," Ron told him firmly. "We all know who you meant when you said it."

"I apologize for that," Draco said in a quieter voice, trying to shove down the angry retort that came to mind for the Weasley prat.

"I forgive you," Hermione told him, trying to smooth things over. "And I believe you've paid for your sins. Would you like breakfast?"

Draco nodded slightly, and seated himself at the table with the other three. To his surprise there was only a slight ache to remind him of the paddle yesterday. Perhaps this was more humane than the cane.

"Does that sound good to you, Draco?" he heard Potter ask him.

"I'm sorry?" he asked, realizing he had missed a lot of conversation.

"We're going to go shopping for clothes for you," Harry patiently explained to him. "Hermione and I are going to take you, Ron has work today."

"That sounds good," he answered, flushing. He certainly did not expect Harry to actually take care of him like this, it was embarrassing. He had no money of his own. "I'll pay you back."

"No need," Harry told him, waving it off. "I have plenty of money, it's no big deal. I signed up to look after you, and that means things like clothes."

Draco shook his head at such easy generosity. These Gryffindors were just begging for someone to take advantage of their good natures. But he also realized that he didn't want to be the one that took advantage of them. Was this what it was going to be like? Dependent on Harry for every bite he ate and every stitch he wore? This rankled him on a deep level.

Seeing Draco's discomfort, Harry wiped his mouth and tried to explain. "This has got to be hard for you, Draco," Harry told him. "You've been used to a large family fortune and taking care of yourself. As I said, this guardianship is supposed to be like family. We are related distantly, you know."

"Every pureblood family is related distantly," Draco sneered.

"So you need to see the money I have as the the same as the money your father had. He was in control of it, but it was for the good of the whole family. It's the same with the money I have."

"Except I'm not your son," Draco answered, his voice tense.

"No, but you are my ward," Harry replied evenly, a hint of warning in his voice. "And I will make sure I look after you properly."

Draco, taking the warning, looked away and focused on eating his breakfast. He was sure that the eggs and toast were perfectly tasty, but they tasted like glue in his mouth. But eat he did, trained by the hunger of being on the run and prison.

The first store was disastrous, even Harry had to admit that. They had walked into the first clothing store that they had come to off the tube, and were at once assaulted with cheap, garish materials and signs screaming discounts. Draco shook his head in horror at the sight, and Harry could barely sort out where he was supposed to look. Though he would have been perfectly grateful for clothes from this store when he was a boy, anything would have been better than his cousin's cast-offs that didn't fit at all. But it had been a long time since he lived in that cupboard under the stairs.

Hermione, seeing the boys panic, pulled them out of the store by their arms. "It's okay," she coaxed them. "That was not the store for us. We will find another store."

They walked a few blocks down, and found a sedate department store that looked like a relic from fifty years ago. Breathing a sigh of relief, both of the young men began looking at the racks of slacks and shirts.

Two hours later, Draco emerged with a modest but respectable wardrobe. He had jeans, trousers, casual and dressier shirts, undergarments, shoes, a light jacket, and even a pair of trainers. It was strange thinking about dressing for every day and not school, he probably wouldn't even need to wear a robe unless he wanted to work in the wizarding world. Eventually. Being careful not to be seen, Harry shrank the clothes packages down and put it into his pocket.

"How did you pay with that plastic card?" Draco asked as they left.

"Muggles use them to access money in their bank accounts," Harry explained. "I have had some of my money converted to muggle money and I use it for situations like this."

"Why are we in the muggle world?" Draco asked carefully, still feeling very out of place.

"We thought it safer," Harry answered. "You are, well, not exactly easy to miss," he glanced at Draco's white hair. "And many people still hate you and the other death eaters."

"Would they hurt me?" Draco asked.

"I won't let them," Harry assured him. "If we venture into the magical world we'll use a disguise. It won't be forever, just until the furor dies down."

Draco was sobered by this response. So Harry was going to be his protector as well as his provider. He really was a sodding child, and as defenseless as one without his wand.

"I know this is hard," Harry told him, studying his face carefully. "But we'll get through it."

"We will," Draco agreed uncertainly.

"Let's go for lunch," Harry suggested. "Draco, have you ever had Indian?"

Draco was pulled along with them to a strange little restaurant that had unfamiliar smells and decorations. Hermione assured him that this was one of her favorite types of food, so he agreed to go along with it. He had been told that most muggle food was bland and crudely made, but after prison food he decided he wasn't picky as long as it was food. He let Harry and Hermione order for them, decided he really didn't want to bother looking at all the unfamiliar names for things.

Sipping on some too-sweet tea that was almost overwhelmed with milk and spices, Draco was not sure what to think about the food. True, the flat bread had been unfamiliar but tasty, and he had had rice before on occasion. But the food had been such a riot of unfamiliar spices and tastes that he wasn't quite sure. He did like the Tandoori chicken, though, and ate it carefully off the bone with his knife and fork. At least that looked like chicken, despite its garish reddish color. The other dishes just looked like nondescript stews.

"DId you like the curry, Draco?" Harry asked. "I'm about to finish it unless you want some."

"It was fine," Draco said, polite. "Go ahead and finish it, I believe I've had enough."

"You can find chicken Tikka Masala at almost any pub," Hermione explained, dishing him up a little more. "It's so good. Here, have some."

Draco, a little offended by their easy table manners, mumbled to himself and ate some of what Hermione dished up for him. He realized that it did actually taste good, his tongue recognized the tomato and garlic and onion. He eagerly took another bite.

"Do muggles always eat food like this?" he asked after carefully swallowing.

"Indian is common," Hermione told him. "I personally really like sushi, maybe we can go out for that another time. But there's also chinese, Japanese, Italian, Thai, French, Greek, Irish, Vietnamese, Ethiopian, Korean, Polish . . . I'm not even sure what else. There's a lot of different ones."

"And English ones too," Harry told him. "In the wizarding world we mostly get English food. But out in the muggle world it's fun to try new things. Hermione knows more than I do, though, my family didn't . . . go out much."

"The heroes of the wizarding world raised by muggles," Draco shook his head, eating another bite. "It's hard to believe. The Dark Lord would not be pleased."

"Good," Hermione replied, slightly flushed. "If Lord Moldy Pants would be pleased then we would have to rethink."

"Moldy Pants?" Harry gasped, then roared with laughter. "Lord Moldy Pants?"

Draco, horrified by Hermione's casual disregard of the powerful Dark Lord, could hardly see what they were laughing about. Hermione giggled herself, covering her mouth with her hands.

And there, in that muggle cafe with all the strange foods, Draco started to feel a little normal. He could be a normal person, out with two friends, enjoying the day together in London. Two friends that talked together, told jokes, and actually _laughed_. Draco couldn't remember the last time he laughed like Harry did - innocent and with abandon. This was no cruel laughter when you vanquish an enemy or torture a muggle. This was laughing at something actually funny.

"He's dead, Draco," Harry told him, his breathing returning to normal. "He's not going to swoop down and crucio you for calling him the wrong thing."

Just then, chaos broke loose as there was a crack of apparition, a swoop of a black cloak, and then another crack. Harry blinked, and realized that Draco was gone.


	5. Chapter 5 - Grief

_AN: Thank you everyone for your kind encouragement. As always, these are not my characters._

* * *

Draco, startled by the sudden apparition and rough hands grabbing him, he found himself thrown down on a stone floor. His hands and knees protested as they barked against the rough surface, but he ignored that as he spun around, readying himself for a fight. He found himself reaching for his wand, cursing when he realized it was gone.

"Who are you?" Draco demanded.

"Don't you recognize me?" the man asked, taking down his hood. Underneath was a skinny, red-headed young man, and Draco did recognize him with some relief. A Weasley wasn't going to kill him, probably just rough him up a bit.

"Fred?" Draco guessed.

"Wrong," George answered with a black, thunderous expression. "He's the one you killed."

George advanced on him, tucking his wand in his sleeve. He would rather do this with his hands. He saw Draco's eyes dart around, but knew the boy was trapped.

"I wasn't there," Draco tried to explain.

"Maybe not," George told him. "But you are a stinking death eater. And instead of rotting in prison or being killed like you deserve, you are out eating food in Muggle London. How fair is that?"

As he said that, Draco's alarm on his wrist started going off loudly. There was a knot in the pit of his stomach, he knew what that meant. "Look, Weasley, I am too far from Potter," he explained. "This will alarm like this for five minutes, and then it knocks me out. The ministry will fetch me. Please, just take me back to Potter so he can turn it off."

"Well, I guess I have five minutes to make you wish you had never taken that tattoo," George told him, sending a quick punch to his stomach. Draco bent over in pain, and then began to feel Weasley's fists pummel him. He found himself laying on the ground, curled up and trying to protect his stomach. He would lose consciousness before the bracelet made him, he thought, spitting out blood. In some ways the pain was a relief, it felt far more familiar than that unsettling feeling of normal he had just a few minutes ago.

"Please, don't hurt me," he begged, trying to protect his face.

"I'm sure Fred said that too," George spat, landing a kick on the meaty part of Malfoy's thighs.

"George!" Draco heard Harry cry out after two cracks of apparition. "George, stop!"

George stopped mid-kick, looking up at Harry in surprise. "Harry!" he greeted him in surprise. "How did you get here so fast?"

Harry, carefully advancing with his wand drawn, walked over to Draco and turned the alarm off by tapping on the bracelet. Hermione was right behind him, her wand drawn as well. George raised his hands in surrender, but an angry fire still burned in his eyes.

"Hermione, care for Draco and call the Weasleys," Harry told her.

Hermione nodded, and with a flick sent off her silvery otter patronus. She then bent over Draco, trying to assess the damage. She began rifling through her purse for healing potions as Draco spit out more blood.

"George, it's okay," Harry told him. "It's totally fine. You don't want to hurt anyone."

"He's a death eater, Harry!" George told him helplessly. "He's one of the ones that killed Fred."

"I know," Harry told him. "I know. He's being punished for those choices. But look at him, George, really look at him. Does he look like Bellatrix to you? Lucius? He's a boy, George, he's Ron's age."

"Old enough to take the mark!" George yelled angrily. "Old enough! And don't think I don't know what he's done! He's no innocent!"

"Not innocent," Harry told him calmly. "But redeemable. He's not lost yet. Can't you let me try?"

"He doesn't deserve it!" George yelled again, but this time tears were mixed with his anger. "He doesn't bloody deserve it!"

"No, he doesn't," Harry agreed. "But that's why we're not Slytherins, right? We're Gryffindors. We believe that there's good in people, that they can change."

"But he's gone, Harry," George rasped rawly, openly sobbing. "He's gone. How am I supposed to do this without him?"

Harry knew there was no answer to his question, but felt relieved when he heard the cracks of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley apparating into the room. He lowered his wand as they went to him, and breathed his relief. He then turned back to Hermione, and saw that she was applying salves and had gotten Draco to take a pain reducing potion.

"Will he need to go to St. Mungo's?" Harry asked wearily.

"He should be alright," Hermione told him. "The diagnostic showed three broken ribs, but the rest is mostly bruising. I can finish fixing him up at home, but for right now I've done what I can."

"How do you feel, Draco?" Harry asked him softly.

"I'll be 'right," Draco answered, trying to speak around his swollen lip.

"I'm very sorry this happened," Harry told him. "I thought we'd be safe in muggle London, I can see we need to be more careful."

"What happened?" Mr. Weasley asked Harry, leaving George in his mother's embrace.

"George kidnapped Draco while we were having lunch," Harry explained. "We were able to follow them because Hermione had put a trace on him. We came in to him beating the bloody hell out of Draco."

"I see," Mr. Weasley answered, his eyes flicking to the injured Draco. "Is he going to be alright?"

"Cracked ribs, a bunch of bruises, he'll live," Harry answered.

"Are you going to file charges?" he asked carefully.

"I think we both know that George isn't in his right mind with grief," Harry answered. "If he goes to the mind healers, I won't press charges."

"Good," Mr. Weasley answered, a haunted smile on his face. "It has been hard on all of us."

"I know," Harry answered. "Me too."

"We'll take him home," Mr. Weasley told him, looking George completely breaking down. "I'll come by later tonight and we can talk."

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley," Harry agreed.

"Tell Draco that we're sorry," Mr. Weasley added. "We may not have liked the choices he has made, but we believe in you, Harry. If you think he's redeemable, than we want to support you."

"Thank you," Harry answered, and watched them apparate away with George.

Harry turned back to Hermione, who was still knelt beside Draco. "I'll go and pay our bill and obliterate some memories," Harry told her. "You get Draco into bed and finish fixing him up. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Alright," Hermione agreed. "I'll let Ron know what happened too."

Harry nodded, and they both were gone in a crack, leaving nothing but spit and blood on the stone floor.

By the time Harry returned home, Hermione had already dosed him with bone growing potions, bruise reducing potions, and had him tucked securely in bed.

"I gave him some sleeping potion," she explained to Harry. "I thought it would be better for him to sleep through it. He'll be much better tomorrow morning."

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry told her, rubbing his face and sitting down on Draco's chair. "Merlin's sakes, I did not see that coming."

"Neither did I," Hermione admitted, her face flushed. "Maybe from an enemy, but from George? Kind, playful George?"

"Losing Fred has got to have nearly destroyed him," Harry told her. "Maybe blaming someone helps with the pain a little." He thought about how much he blamed Snape for everything, and gulped a little.

"We are going to have to be more careful," Hermione said, tucking the blanket securely around Draco's shoulders. "If it had been someone truly bent on revenge he would have been dead."

"I know," Harry breathed. "I will talk to Mr. Weasley tonight about strengthening our wards, though there's pretty good ones right now. We'll make sure nobody can apparate in or out without permission, and we'll limit the floo. Maybe some other people from the order can help with other protective charms."

"I'll research," Hermione volunteered.

"Don't you have classes to ready for?" Harry asked her.

"School doesn't start for a few more weeks," Hermione admitted. "And really, I should be able to teach Transfigurations with no problems."

"We're the youngest professors ever to teach," Harry laughed. "I think it might be more of a challenge than we think."

"Well, with so many teachers dying . . ." Hermione started, but couldn't finish.

"They may regret hiring us," Harry smirked. "I can't see us giving detentions."

"You will," Hermione told him with an arched eyebrow. "A first year hexes his friend in your class while you're practicing basic defense, and you'll do it."

"Ron's at the ministry, and you and I are gone all day," Harry told her. "What are we going to do about Draco?"

"Well, you and I can floo home between classes and check on him," Hermione told him. "He is an adult, Harry. I'm sure we can keep him busy here. Perhaps we can encourage him to take a course or something by correspondence."

"It would have to be something without magic," Harry told her, shaking his head. "If I were Draco, that would be one of the hardest parts. I would feel like my arm was cut off without my wand."

"I agree," Hermione nodded. "Well, let's let him rest now. I know I could do with a cup of tea."

"Me too," Harry agreed, and they left the slumbering Draco behind.

On their way down, Harry decided he would ask Hermione the question that had been bugging him about Draco. "Why does he just seem so, I don't know, numb?" Harry asked. "I mean, in the span of a few days he's been taken from prison and what he must have realized was a death sentence, his parents have been executed, and he's been put under the guardianship of someone he hates. He just seems a little angry. Shouldn't he feel more?"

"I think you answered your own question," Hermione told him. "Harry, people can't grieve until they feel safe. Draco is still in survival mode, he probably has been since he was assigned to kill Dumbledore. Prison would have made that worse. Likely the only thing he can feel is anger."

"You have to be safe to grieve?"

"Well, let me ask you this," Hermione answered, getting down a teapot. "When did you start feeling the most sad about your parents?"

"When I came to Hogwarts," Harry admitted. "I didn't think of them with the Dursleys hardly at all."

"You weren't safe there," Hermione confirmed. "It was only when you started feeling safe at Hogwarts, with friends and people that cared about you, that you were able to start to really feel their loss. It will take Draco a while, maybe years."


	6. Chapter 6 - Conversation and Plans

The next morning, Draco was awoken by Harry bringing in a breakfast tray. "Rise and shine, sleepyhead," he said as he set the tray down on Draco's lap. The sides flipped out, creating a small table in his bed.

"Breakfast in bed?" Draco asked, stunned.

"Yes," Harry told him. "And we made you bacon too. You missed dinner last night, you must be starved."

Draco realized that his stomach did feel uncomfortably empty, and the smell of the breakfast was nearly overpowering. He began to eat with enthusiasm, and the food actually tasted good too.

"Looks like you're feeling better," Harry told him, walking over and opening his drapes. "Do you have any affects from yesterday's attack?"

"No," Draco answered, his mouth full and carefully testing his muscles. "Granger did a decent job."

"Hermione," Harry told him pointedly.

"Hermione," Draco repeated sarcastically, but in good humor. "I shouldn't have bloody apologized to her, you weren't going to punish me last night."

"I could have this morning," Harry answered, arching an eyebrow.

"You're too soft-hearted."

"Maybe," Harry answered, his lip twitching. "I'm glad you're better. We're going to have to take better precautions in the future if you leave the house. Apparently Ron had told his family we were going shopping today, that's how George found us."

"Weasel," Draco muttered.

"Watch your mouth," Harry warned him, and Draco turned his attention to his bacon.

"I promised to keep you safe, and I'm sorry that that happened to you yesterday," Harry told him softly. "Did it, I don't know, are you feeling worried about it?"

Draco snorted. "Potter, you should see what they did to me in prison," he replied, trying to sound like he was blustering but it came off a little hollow. "That was nothing."

"I fought in the war too, _Draco_ ," Harry told him, emphasizing his first name. "And it would still scare me if someone grabbed me like that and beat me up."

"Yeah, you haven't been in prison," Draco told him. "There were supposed to be wards up to prevent it, but, let's just say I was relieved it was George."

"Relieved?" Harry asked incredulously. "He was giving you a proper thrashing from what I saw."

"Exactly," Draco answered. "He wasn't trying to kill me, just make me hurt a little. I was relieved."

"It sounds like you sized him up quickly," Harry softly reflected.

"Of course," Draco answered. "I've gotten more, well, practical since our school days."

"Practical?" Harry asked.

"Obviously," Draco answered. "If you had been placed as my guardian at 15 I would be plotting to kill you. If my parents had been killed I would have been raging or tearing things apart."

"And now?"

"Now I'm just glad you're such a sodding optimistic Gryffindor that you're willing to save my sorry arse," Draco replied. "Really? Did you hear what you told George? And it _worked_. I don't get you guys."

"Well, I'm glad you're not trying to kill me."

"Well, at least let me get my strength back."

"Speaking of what I said to George, I wanted to talk to you about your rehabilitation," Harry told him. "I have some ideas for you. But first, if you could do anything, what would you do?"

"Leave here and go to the Bahamas?" Draco drawled sarcastically.

"I mean from here."

"I have no idea," Draco answered, eating a forkful of eggs. "It's been a long time since I asked myself that question."

"Well, ask it," Harry told him. "I have some ideas, but I want you to have some ideas too. First off, though, we're going to assign you some chores . . ."

"Chores?" Draco exploded. "What?"

"I need to remind you of respect for your guardian," Harry answered calmly. "I expect a 'sir' and no cheek."

"Yes sir," Draco answered with only a little sarcasm. "What would you like your slave to do today, sir?"

"I'm glad you asked," Harry answered seriously. "I will draw up a list of chores. I think you will mostly do cleaning since Kreacher prefers cooking."

"Am I a bloody house elf? Sir?"

"No, but you do need to be rehabilitated," Harry answered. "And from what we've read manual labor is a common part of that. I also want to encourage you in your career. Do you have any ideas on what you might want to do?"

"Um, I don't think my CV will qualify me for much," Draco answered sardonically. "What are good career options for ones who have served the Dark One?"

"Well Snape was a teacher," Harry told him with a smirk. "You were always rather good at Potions."

"Not good enough to teach," Draco said sadly.

"If you want to learn more, you can take a course," Harry told him. "Hermione has a basic lab set up in the basement, we can expand it. Is that something you would like?"

Draco, torn between not wanting to believe anything that Harry said and wondering if it could be actually something he could do, quietly answered, "Yes, sir."

"Good, then we'll look into that. I'm sure Hermione would love to have someone do some of the household brewing."

"What are you doing?" Draco asked him. "I mean, what are the three of you doing? Are you working or going to school?"

"Hermione and I are doing both," Harry laughed. "We're both teaching at Hogwarts and continuing our education by correspondence. They're desperate for teachers after . . . everything, so they've hired us. Hermione is teaching Transfiguration and I'm teaching Defense. McGonagall is headmistress."

"Being a war hero must look good on your CV," Draco drawled. "Defeating the Dark Lord certainly looks good for a Defense job."

"Ron's at the ministry," Harry explained. "He's assistant to Shacklebolt, who is now the Minister. They're changing how the ministry is run. They keep trying to get Hermione and I to work for the ministry, but we're just not sure. Hogwarts feels like home, you know?"

"I know," Draco answered.

"So we'll be gone during the day starting in a few weeks, but we'll all take turns checking on you during the day," Harry told him.

"I'm not an infant!" Draco protested.

"Sir," Harry added.

"Sir," Draco added, gritting his teeth.

"We know you're not an infant," Harry told him. "We just want to make sure you don't go crazy holed up here with Kreacher. This is a big adjustment for you."

"I've been in prison, SIR, not some bloody luxury accommodation!" Draco yelled.

"I know," Harry told him softly. "Now quit yelling before I have to discipline you."

Draco stopped yelling, but was still fuming.

"Well, I'm glad to see that your instinct for self-preservation is still intact," Harry smiled at him. "We're not trying to make this harder than it is, Draco. We just want to do everything we can to make it successful. You and I both know what happens if we don't succeed."

Draco felt the anger drain out of him at that. He did know, and he knew it all too well. It rankled that these idiotic Gryffindors would be the ones to save him. And in such a humiliating way, too.

"So after you finish your breakfast, I expect you to clean the loo up here and to tidy the hallway. After lunch you will also clean the main sitting room and the loo downstairs, so you could always get started on that if you finish upstairs early." Harry said this evenly and firmly, as if he expected to be obeyed, but he watched Draco carefully.

"I am not a sodding house elf!" Draco exploded. "I am not cleaning a bloody toilet!"

Harry blinked, not expecting his own anger rising. He needed to stay in control, and he decided to leave before that became a problem.

"If the loo upstairs and hallway aren't clean by lunch you will be standing for lunch, understand?" he asked sternly.

Draco didn't answer, just glowered in response. Harry left the room, saying, "Make sure you take your dishes down when you're through."

 _In all honesty,_ Harry thought to himself. I _t actually showed great restraint that he didn't throw the dishes against the wall._

Harry figured that Draco would be occupied for a while, so he went downstairs to talk to Hermione more about their "special project." They were getting so close now, and having Malfoy here was hopefully not going to interfere. Or was it as Hermione suggested, that he might be able to help in some way?


	7. Chapter 7 - Cleaning House

_These Characters belong to JK Rowling, I just get to play with them._

* * *

Draco tried. Even that statement in and of itself was somewhat of a miracle. This was not the proud Slytherin he had been at 15, this was someone who was just trying to survive. Prison had humbled him, but it had also numbed him. The only emotion he felt anymore with any clarity was anger, and anger fueled him from the annoying conversation with Potter, to putting his dishes downstairs, and to try and figure out how one actually cleaned anything, let alone a whole bathroom. He wasn't sure he was going to be able to control that anger much longer.

He seemed to remember reading a book or something about somebody cleaning, but he couldn't remember it clearly. He seemed to remember a bucket and some soap, though, and maybe a brush or some sort of rag. He went into the bathroom and began rummaging around, and was happy to find a bucket with a brush and a cake of soap in the bottom. Not sure what to do, he picked up the brush in his hand. Yes, that felt right. He looked at the bar of soap in the bottom, surely some of the soap should go on the floor? He picked up the bar of soap and rubbed it against the floor. It seemed to come off a little bit on the floor, and seemed to cover the floor with a thin film. Surely this wasn't any cleaner? Maybe he needed to rub it with the brush. Picking up the brush, he dabbed it a little bit, but that didn't seem to change anything. What was he doing wrong? Oh yeah, he thought, water. Shouldn't he be using water?

Draco got up to get the water, stepped on the part of the floor that he had just soaped and then found himself flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, and feeling somewhat dazed.

Harry and Hermione heard the crash, and looked at each other in panic.

"I'll go," Hermione told him.

She hurried up to the toilet, wondering what she was going to find. Bursting through the door, she almost tripped on the prone figure of Draco, lying on the floor and staring up at the ceiling.

"Draco, are you alright?" she demanded, going to his side. "Where does it hurt?"

Draco managed to groan in response, so Hermione whipped out her wand and did a quick diagnostic.

"You have a bit of bruising, but really you just had the breath knocked out of you," she told him. "Not even a concussion. Can I help you sit up?"

Draco nodded, and Hermione helped him to sit up. He felt a little dizzy, but otherwise okay.

"Draco, what are you doing?" she asked, looking at the soap film on the floor and the brush.

"Cleaning." This statement held such contempt and defeat that Hermione flinched.

"Would you like me to show you how?" she asked.

He wanted to say no, he wanted to yell at her that she was a filthy mudblood and couldn't teach him anything. He wanted to insist that this was work meant for lesser beings and he would never soil his hands with it. He wanted to say Harry could beat him unconscious and then ship him off to be executed before he would ever submit to this horrible rehabilitation. But that arrogant 15 year old had never been to prison, and he had never starved, and he had never been ordered by the Dark Lord to kill his headmaster. He had never killed anybody. Draco told that inner 15 year old to shut up and stop being such an arrogant prat. So, he answered, "Okay."

Hermione filled the bucket with water, showed Draco how to apply the soap to the brush, and then begin to scrub the floor. She started out demonstrating, but by the end Draco had kind of taken over. Hermione smiled as he finished polishing the faucet like he'd been cleaning bathrooms forever.

"You've done well, Draco," she told him. "And we're done before lunch."

Draco's face fell at her words, and he turned and looked at the bucket. With a burst of anger, he picked it up and threw it against the wall, sending dirty wash-water everywhere. "Damn it to hell you filthy mudblood!" he yelled, completely incensed. "Do you think I want to clean a bathroom?! And do it before that damned _Gryffindor_ tells me I have to or he'll spank me like a child? Do you?"

He advanced on Hermione, but she didn't draw her wand. She looked away, expecting him to hit her, and put hand on her wand.

"You dare think I want your praise? Do you?" he was so close to her face that she could feel his hot breath on her cheek.

She closed her eyes and waited, not being able to think of one thing she could say that would help him calm down. So, she just waited, frozen, expecting the blow she was sure would come. Suddenly she realized that he wasn't near her face, but was instead sitting on the ground at her feet, motionless.

"I'm in a body bind," he told her, his voice tight and very near tears. "Go get Potter."

Hermione called Harry from the door, and he was there moments later.

"He's in a body bind," Hermione told Harry. "I think the bracelet did it."

"What happened?" Harry asked, concerned.

Hermione quickly explained what had happened, but left out Draco's choice of words. Harry looked at her sharply and said, "Hermione, the bracelet knows so I need to know. Tell me what he said."

"He called me a mudblood," Hermione admitted. "But Harry, I think when I praised him it must have triggered something for him . . ."

"Why did the bracelet put him in a body bind for words?" Harry asked. "It didn't do that before."

Hermione didn't answer, and looked away. Harry looked at Draco and, trying to keep calm, asked, "Draco, why did the bracelet put you in a body bind?"

"I didn't hurt her," Draco told him defensively.

"Answer my question."

Draco sighed. "The bracelet can tell when someone wants to hurt someone," he explained. "It's designed to reduce prison violence. I didn't hurt her, but I wanted to."

"Would you have hurt her if the bracelet hadn't intervened?" Harry asked him.

"I don't know," Draco answered quietly. He wanted to lie, to be convincing, to be a Slytherin, but for some reason he found himself telling the truth. "I might have."

Harry felt his anger rise, and he found his fists clenching. How dare Draco attack Hermione. "Why wasn't your wand out?" he asked Hermione.

"I, I don't know," Hermione answered. "I had my hand on it. I just, well, I think I knew why he was angry and I was hoping it would blow over if I didn't answer."

"So after Hermione so kindly came up here to help you when she heard you fall, and then stayed to help you learn to properly clean a bathroom, and then after she was kind enough to say kind words to you, you attacked her with words, and may or may not have been about to attack her physically," Harry summarized.

Draco squirmed in the body bind. When he said it like that . . . well . . .

"Are you calm enough to be released?" Harry asked him.

"Yes, sir," Draco answered.

Reaching down, Harry tapped the bracelet and Draco found his muscles relaxing and he was able to move. He looked up at Harry's face, however, and felt his stomach flip.

"You will go to your room now and await me there," Harry told him in a hard voice. "I need to calm down before I can give you your punishment."

Draco found his breath hitching, and was that actual fear he felt in his stomach? He was afraid of Potter? He was about to argue, and then he met Potter's eyes. His survival instincts kicked in, and he didn't argue. He silently went to his room.

"Do you have to do it?" Hermione asked Harry after Draco left.

"I do," Harry answered. "There's not a choice. At least this time I think he really deserves it."

"Will it be worse than before?" she asked.

"Of course, this was way worse," Harry answered. "Promise me next time you'll draw your wand? He may have been able to get a punch in before the body bind."

"I promise," Hermione answered.

"Do you want me to floo Ron?" Harry asked. "He could come home for lunch."

"I'm fine," Hermione told him.

Harry looked at her closely, and answered, "You're not fine, Hermione. Accio two Calming Draughts."

Two small vials of Calming Draught flew into his hand, and he offered one to Hermione. "Here, take this."

"I don't need it," she told him.

"Your hands are shaking, and your face is the color of milk," he told her. "Please, would you take it? I think I need one too."

Hermione acquiesced, and found her nerves steady after she took the potion. She looked at Harry, and he seemed to be calming too.

"It reminded me of the . . . of Bellatrix," Hermione told Harry, and both of them knew what she meant. It reminded her of when Bellatrix had tortured her. "I was back there, just for a second. I was so scared."

"I think that's pretty normal for people who've been through what we have been," Harry told her.

"I think that same thing happened to Draco," Hermione told him. "He was like that, I don't know. It's like he was just reacting, not thinking at all."

"He probably was," Harry admitted, seeing that to be true now that his anger had dissipated. "Seeing a mind healer would be more helpful to him than being disciplined by me. But you know I still have to do it."

"I know," Hermione told him. "We have to play it for the ministry."

Harry took a few more deep breaths, and then patted Hermione's arm. "Call Ron at the ministry," he told her. "He should come home for lunch. I will go and deal with Draco now."

"I'll make some tea," Hermione told him, nodding. "I think Chamomile is in order."

Harry grimaced, not liking herbal teas as much as his black tea, but realizing that some of the calming tea might be good for all concerned. He would certainly use it afterwards. Fetching the paddle from his bedroom, he walked into Draco's room with purpose. He stood there in Draco's room, Draco sizing up Harry's demeanor and the paddle in his hand.

"How many?" Draco's voice finally broke the silence.

"Eight," Harry answered.

Draco nodded, recognizing that the sentence was fair but merciful. He had half expected a far worse sentence, and with something much worse than a paddle. He had heard what the judge of the tribunal had said, as long as Potter didn't put him in the hospital then they had no problem with whatever he did.

Nodding, Draco bent over the bed. Harry wondered a bit at the ritual the two of them were already developing, and felt his breath hitch a little. He knew he had to deliver a stern punishment, and he was angry at Draco as well, but this just felt so unnatural!

"You know why you are getting this punishment," Harry told him. "You attacked Hermione when all she did was try and help you."

"I am sorry, sir," Draco told him. "I don't know what came over me."

"If you ever raise a hand to her again your punishment will be far worse," Harry told him sternly. "I think you recognize the mercy I'm giving you."

Draco nodded.

Harry then took a deep breath and raised the paddle, trying to focus on what Ron had told him.

"Count please, Draco," Harry told him. He brought the paddle down hard, eliciting a yelp from the recipient.

"One, sir," Draco counted, then breathed. Another blow, and "Two, sir."

Harry brought the paddle down again hard, right over his upper thighs. Draco took a second, and then was able to say, "Three sir." Draco stalled a bit at number six as well, and to his horror tears began to fall at stroke seven. Harry finished with stroke eight across his upper thighs, and Draco choked it out. He lay there, gripping his blanket in his fists, and then buried his face in it. He did not want Potter to see those tears.

Harry knew that Draco would probably want to be alone, but he felt torn about leaving him there.

"You can leave now," Draco told him, his voice thick but slowly returning to normal.

"I'll see you down at lunch, then," Harry told him.

"I'd rather eat in here," Draco told him.

"You will come down and apologize," Harry told him. "Lunch will be in one hour, that gives you long enough to pull yourself together."

"Yes, sir," Draco replied, his backside too sore to argue.

And then Harry left him.


	8. Chapter 8 - The Lunch After

_I do not own nor profit, only enjoy writing about_

* * *

Lunch was a subdued affair. Draco had come down on time, and sat very gingerly in his chair at the table. Ron watched, satisfied, and turned to Harry. "So you did a proper job," he told Harry. "Good. The prat deserved it."

Draco didn't say anything, but simply stared down at his plate.

It had taken Harry another calming draft and an hour of reading about Quidditch before his hands stopped shaking. It was just too much like his encounters with his Uncle Vernon, he was going to have to change how he disciplined Draco or he wouldn't be able to do it.

"I think he feels remorse for his actions," Harry told them, with an obvious prompt for Draco's apology.

"I am sorry, Gr - Hermione. You came to help me and I attacked you." Draco seemed defeated, smaller maybe, and he took a deep breath. "I don't know what came over me. But I promise you not to do it again."

"You are forgiven," Hermione told him firmly. "I know that you were not in your right mind. That happens to me too, sometimes, when something reminds me of . . . well, I think you know."

Harry nodded gravely, he knew what Hermione meant.

"But that doesn't mean you get to scare my girlfriend, you git," Ron growled. "Harry may be the one who is authority over you, but if you hurt her again . . ."

"Ron, it's okay," Hermione told him. "He can't hurt me, the bracelet put him into a body bind when he just thought about it. And Harry's punished him, so it's all over."

"Are you sure?" Ron asked. "I still remember that slug hex if you want me to."

"No," Hermione smiled, finally starting to feel lighter. "That didn't turn out so good last time. How about instead you just give me a little cuddle and help me feel better?"

Ron drew her into a hug, and she nestled her cheek against his shoulder. This was what she wanted all along, this solid, loving young man who really would do anything for her. _Solid,_ she thought, his wavering of the year before forgotten _. That's what Ron is for me. He's solid._

Harry averted his eyes for the hug, and he saw Draco roll his eyes. Harry managed a half smile and rolled his eyes playfully as well. Draco wasn't sure what to make of this guardian of his, childhood enemy, but the prat who had saved his hide several times. And now they were rolling their eyes together at Ron and Hermione's loving behavior.

Kreacher brought out sandwiches and fruit, and soon they all were eating and relaxing. Draco even managed to look up at them from time to time, and had that strange feeling of normal again. Even though nothing about this situation was normal - why did he get that feeling?

"There's going to be somebody from the ministry stopping by to check on Draco this afternoon," Ron warned him. "There's been a lot of buzz that you aren't being tough enough on him. Plenty of people are unhappy that he's dodged the potion."

"They hear everything said and monitor Draco with the bracelet," Harry told him. "Surely they can see that we've been following the rules."

"Except you've chosen what some people feel aren't harsh enough punishments."

"Well, after this morning I don't think so," Harry told him.

"Most people were expecting you to use the cane," Ron told him.

Harry looked at Draco, and Draco lowered his face. "I've had it before," Draco told Harry. "My Father. It's better than prison."

"If I am truly his guardian than I get to make that decision," Harry ground out. "Hermione, there wasn't anything in the literature that said I had to do one punishment? As long as it was corporal and caused pain, it was okay, right?"

"That's what I found," Hermione agreed.

"Then we don't compromise," Harry tells them. "Although, Draco, you'd make our lives easier if you were to just behave yourself enough that I wouldn't have to discipline you at all."

"I'll try," Draco commented dryly.

"And I need a word with you two about that special project we've been working on," he said, with a significant look towards Draco.

"Let's take it in the other room," Harry said. "I think we're done here. Draco, would you mind helping Kreacher with the dishes?"

Draco nodded, but was bristling with curiosity. Those three were always up for something. The curiosity he felt made him not even notice that he had been ordered to clean up the lunch, he just did what he was told. He saw the three go into the other room, and put up silencing spells all around them. Draco craned his neck to see what they were discussing, but he saw that they got really excited. _What could they possibly be planning?_

They returned to the kitchen, and Ron took the floo back to his job. Harry then turned towards Draco, saying, "So you have your chores for this afternoon, and then afterwards I want you to start on the Potions textbook that Hermione got you, just to brush up," Harry told him. "She owled for an application for you for the potions course, so we can work on that tonight."

"Sounds good," Draco answered.

"The three of us have an errand we will be doing this evening," Harry told him evenly. "I want you to stay in your room while we're gone. I'm going to put a sticking charm on your door, but if you need to get out or something just call for Kreacher."

"Where are you going, sir?" Draco dared to ask.

"Not your business for now," Harry told him. "But we have some things to get ready. And maybe you should be working when that ministry person calls here?"

The ministry employee was named Eustacia Scrabb, and Harry couldn't help but think that she almost deserved that name. She was a thin, bespeckled woman in a tweed suit and a clipboard attached to her hand. Her thin lips turned downwards naturally, giving her face a permanent scowl. Harry greeted her as she stepped out of the floo, but found himself taking an instant dislike to her. She seemed officious and cold.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Scrabb," Harry greeted. "Welcome to my home."

She sniffed, looking around the house. "Thank you," she answered, looking as if she were sucking on a pickle.

"Tea?"

"No thank you."

"Then please be seated."

"Thank you," she answered, pulling out a quill. "I have several questions for you. And then I want to see the prisoner."

"That sounds fine with me," Harry agreed. "And I have a few questions as well. What would you like to know?"

"How many times have you found it needful to punish the prisoner?"

"Twice," Harry answered. "The last time this morning."

"I see," she said, writing it down. "And how have you found the prisoner?"

"He seems fine," Harry told her. "A bit disrespectful, perhaps, but we're working on it."

"I see," she repeated, writing it down. "Do you regret your actions in taking on Mr. Malfoy?"

"No," Harry answered firmly. "I think it's going to work."

"Even though he attacked Miss Granger?"

Harry blinked uncomfortably. "I don't think that will happen again," he told her. "My punishment was swift and stern. And Miss Granger is a fully trained, highly capable witch. I don't think Mr. Malfoy poses much of a threat to her. To be honest, even with my wand I wouldn't want to go up against her, and Draco is wandless."

"I see," she answered, writing notes furiously. "Now tell me about the abduction."

"It was really more of a misunderstanding," Harry told her firmly. "The Weasleys are family friends."

"And he abducted and beat your ward?"

"Yes," Harry admitted. "But I used my judgement not to press charges. George really just needs to see a mind healer. He's sick with grief over losing his twin in the war."

"I see," the woman repeated. "The ministry trusts your judgement in this matter."

Harry nodded, but got the feeling that it was more that they didn't care what happened to Draco than they actually trusted him.

"You have questions for me?" she asked.

"I was discussing with my flatmates about privacy," he said. "During certain times, would it be permissible to put a silencing charm over the bracelet in order to have private conversations? It is uncomfortable for us to realize that our dinner conversation includes the ministry."

"I will ask," she promised. "That seems a reasonable request."

"We also wanted to ask what exactly it monitors," Harry asked. "Is it just what Draco hears or is it what he sees as well? I mean, do I have to stop wandering around the house in my underwear?"

"It's what he hears and what his emotions are," she replies. "It doesn't read his thoughts, really, but cues to violent tendencies. So when he had clear thought and intention of hurting someone, it triggers the body bind. And if he's too far from you, it triggers the alarm and then renders him unconscious. These are actually features useful for prisoners."

"Thanks for that clarification," Harry answered. "That makes me feel better."

"We are trying to support you in your endeavor," the woman told him, adjusting her glasses. "However big-hearted and empty-headed it might seem."

"Thank you," Harry told her, trying not to stiffen at the insult.

"You are the savior of the wizarding world," she quipped. "Though why you would put yourself out for the likes of Malfoy . . ."

"You had said you wanted to talk to him?" Harry asked. "Find out if he's been well treated?"

"I suppose I should," she answered.

Harry called for Malfoy, who came in looking disgruntled.

"Mr. Malfoy, I am Junior Undersecretary Eustacia Scrabb. I am here to check on your welfare and living arrangements."

"Hello, Ms. Scrabb."

"Are you finding your accommodations adequate?" she asked.

"Yes," Malfoy answered. "I am fed and housed properly."

"Do you have any complaints of your treatment?"

"I do," Draco answered levelly. "Mr. Potter is a harsh taskmaster. He insists on me doing menial chores, and it's humiliating. And twice now he has endeavored to discipline me physically for very little reason, which was both very painful and humiliating. He uses a paddle, when a cane would be far more dignified for me. There is no reason for me to be subject to juvenile, medieval discipline such as this."

"I see," she replied, writing down his complaints, but seeming to enjoy them. "Your complaints are duly noted."

"Thank you, madame."

"Yes. Well, Mr. Potter, you will receive an owl to answer your question before dinner tonight."

"Thank you, Ms. Scrabb," he nodded his head. "We thank you for all of your help."

"And I would like to leave you with this encouragement," Ms. Scrabb said, stepping over the the floo. "Mr. Potter, I would like to encourage you to remember that Mr. Malfoy was placed with you as an alternative to very severe punishment. Being with you should not be a picnic. If, at your six month assessment, the Tribunal finds you to be too easy on him and the prisoner too comfortable, it will be likely to reverse its decision on this guardianship. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Madame," Harry replied, sobered. "But we are also hoping for rehabilitation, correct? It can't be all about punishment."

"The public wants to feel safe, and they want evildoers punished," she replied, adjusting her glasses. "I will leave you now."

That night, after a silencing spell approved by the tribunal located around Draco's wrist, Harry looked at Draco. "Okay, Draco," Harry told him firmly. "What was up with your complaining to our visitor?"

"I thought you said that they wanted me to suffer?" Malfoy shrugged. "So I thought I'd make them think that I do."

"Would you really prefer the cane?" he asked, incredulous.

"Of course not," Malfoy grimaced. "I wouldn't be sitting down for dinner if you'd used the cane. Sure, it's more dignified, but there are times that dignity does not prevail. But I thought me detesting the humiliation of the paddle might quieten those that are calling for my blood. It makes you look harsher, Potter."

"He's right, Harry," Ron said, leaning back. "Bloody clever."

"I am a Slytherin," Draco shot back. "A good plan and clever thinking can be much more efficient than forging ahead bravely."

The three looked at each other, asking the question without words.

"Not yet," Hermione told them firmly. "We'll involve him if we need to."

Harry nodded. "Not yet."

"What are you guys planning?" Draco asked, not able to stand it.

"We will tell you," Harry told him. "But we can't yet. We don't even know if it is going to be something or not."

"Then what is it?" Draco insisted.

"Well," Harry looked at Hermione and Ron, and Hermione shrugged.

"The thing is," Harry explained. "We never found Snape's body."

"He died!" Draco insisted.

"I know, I was there," Harry told him. "His last words were to me. He has a death certificate based on what I saw."

"But then what about his body?"

"We don't know," Hermione told him. "Some bodies did go missing at the end of the battle. There were . . . unnatural creatures there. But where Snape's body was located that seems unlikely. But yet, it's gone."

"What do you know?" Draco demanded.

"Very little," Ron admitted. "We have a few leads. We don't have a lot to go on."

"Why is this such a big deal where his body is?" Draco asked.

"Because if there's no body," Harry told him calmly. "There is a chance he might be alive."

* * *

 _Bonus points for anybody who can successfully identify the literary reference related to Ms. Scrabb._


	9. Chapter 9 - The Contract

Draco sat in his room, bored. He had the book to review, but his mind couldn't concentrate. He just kept thinking about what they had said. What would it mean if Snape were alive? How could he have done it? How could be undiscovered? What sort of leads do the stupid Gryffindors have? And where were they now, off on some secret mission while Draco lay holed up in this room, depending on a house elf to even use the loo? The indignities. He could be doing something - anything! - useful, and here he was, stuck.

The next morning at breakfast, everyone was acting as if nothing had happened the night before. Draco wanted to ask, but then glanced down at his bracelet. Damn thing, he couldn't talk or do anything without the ministry hearing everything. He briefly wondered if the Ministry was very happy to place a listening device in this specific house - he knew they wanted to keep a close eye on Potter.

Harry wiped his mouth after he had eaten his eggs, and cleared his throat. Looking at Draco, he said, "This morning I want you to start sorting out the spare bedroom next to yours. There is a lot of junk in there, but it should be sorted and arranged to make sure nothing valuable gets out. Make a pile of the junk in the hallway and one of us can banish it when we get home. Then, work on scrubbing out the room. Since you are in our current guest room, it's time to make another."

"Why, sir?" Draco asked. "Are you expecting visitors?"

"Visitors can always come," Harry smirked. "It's best to be prepared. Now, if you find a boggart or any sort of magical infestations, let one of us know and we'll handle it for you. Mrs. Weasley had a pretty good go though when this house was the headquarters for the Order, so I doubt you'll find anything."

"Yes, sir."

"I think the afternoons should be spent with your pursuing study," Harry said. "Sort of a double-edged rehabilitation program. Hermione and I have worked up a study schedule for you to adhere to. I expect your assignments to be written legibly."

Draco, rankling at the authority Potter was assuming, decided not to fight. He wanted to give his guardian no reason to discipline him today, he could still feel a little bit of an ache on his bum from the last encounter he'd had with the paddle. Now if he could just keep his anger under control.

Draco entered the bedroom he was supposed to clean with fear and trepidation. Even with the assurances that all of the evil creatures had been removed, he felt naked without his wand. Even though he had lost his original wand so long ago to that stupid prat Potter, he at least could use a family wand when needed. But since he was imprisoned he had not been able to touch a wand, and he knew that the bracelet he wore would knock him out if he dared touch one now. But walking into this room he felt the loss of his wand like a dull, empty ache. Would he ever be able to be a real wizard again?

He found cleaning the room to be mostly dull and tiring rather than frightening. Mrs. Weasley must have really done her work at least in this room, he didn't encounter the smallest magical creature. But he did encounter decades of dust and debris, however. He made a pile in the hallway of various bits of broken things, and hand managed to wipe down most of the surfaces. The blankets on the bed were covered in dust and Draco wasn't sure what to do with that, but managed to get almost everything else wiped down and looking at least a little better. He straightened up, stretching his back after wiping off a small table, and looked around the room. What could be done with magic in just a few minutes had taken him all morning, and even then the room wasn't that much better. He couldn't clean away peeling wallpaper and stained floors. Surely it was time for lunch now?

Draco went down to the study room where Harry and Hermione were working on their preparations for their classes.

"Yes, Draco?" Harry asked him, looking up.

 _Damn him,_ Draco thought. _He's sitting there just like the Lord of the manor and I'm checking in with him just like a servant or a young child._ His face darkened.

"Did you need help with a magical creature or with banishing junk?" Hermione asked, seeing Draco's face darken.

"Banishing junk," Draco answered, trying to control his anger.

"I'll go," Harry said, marking his place in his book.

Draco bristled again, feeling the slight that Harry wouldn't trust him alone with Hermione again. Even though a part of his brain knew that was reasonable as he had just attacked Hermione yesterday, he couldn't help but feel angry about it. He felt his fists clench, but as he saw Harry get up he also reminded himself of his position. _Calm down,_ he told himself. _Calm down._

"Okay, let's see what I can do," Harry told him casually. He followed Draco up to the spare bedroom, and easily banished the pile of junk in the hallway. "Looks like you've been busy," Harry told him.

They then went into the bedroom, and Harry looked around. "Well, I see where you've worked," Harry told him. "Here, I'll send the blankets down to Kreacher," and the bed was stripped in a wave of the wand. "You can get a broom to get those cobwebs," Harry told him. "And you will need to move the furniture to get underneath them properly."

"How do you know so much about this?" Draco asked incredulously.

"There's a few things about me that you don't know," Harry smirked, trying to relieve the tension. "I was raised by muggles."

"And what, you were their maid?"

"Basically," Harry answered, trying to look nonchalant. "Not exactly the best place I could have grown up. But let's just say there's very little housework that I haven't done."

"You could clean this room in a few minutes with your wand," Draco told him, and then belatedly added, "sir."

"I know," Harry agreed. "But then you wouldn't be rehabilitated. Now, there's an hour left until lunch . . ."

"An hour?" he asked, aghast.

"I know, time goes slow when you're working," Harry told him sympathetically. "But you have an hour left and let's see what you can finish. Then after lunch you can join Hermione and I in the study." Harry left before Draco really had a chance to argue, he could see how hard it was for Draco to control himself and he didn't want to make it harder.

If Draco hadn't been to old for accidental magic, then Harry would have been in serious danger of being hexed. Instead, Draco had to settle for glaring as hard as he could at Harry's retreating back. A large part of him wanted to trash the place, to destroy anything that he could. But he reminded himself about not earning a punishment today, so he picked up the broom and began trying to bat down the cobwebs from the ceiling. The ceiling was very tall and dark, and so Draco had to climb on top of furniture to be able to reach them. He stretched . . .

Harry and Hermione heard a loud "Thump!" and they looked at each other in alarm. They were out of their seats and halfway to the stairs before they heard Draco call down, "I'm okay up here. Just fell."

"Do you need a potion?" Hermione called up.

"I'm fine," Draco gritted out, his face flushing with embarrassment. "I don't need anything."

After lunch, Draco sat down carefully, but this time it was due to his own clumsiness and not Harry's doing. Hermione watched him surreptitiously, noting the bump on his head and the bruise on his elbow. "I'm happy to get you a bruise potion or a pain relieving potion," she told Draco. "There's no reason to suffer."

"I'm fine," Draco glowered, pulling out his book.

"You'll find I've put a list of your assignments at the beginning," Hermione told him. "You should look that over before starting your work."

Rolling his eyes, Draco pulled out the parchment that held his assignment. With surprise and a little confusion, he read the words:

 _I, Draco Malfoy, do solemnly pledge to keep all of the secrets told to me by Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley. I understand in signing this document that this is my solemn vow, with all the seriousness of a wizard's vow. I am to communicate none of the secrets I discover or am told in any way to anybody outside of the three aforementioned people. I understand that there will be severe and immediate consequences if this vow is broken._

 _In exchange for this vow, I will be included in the plans and preparations, and will be made aware of what information is deemed necessary for me to have in order to research and contribute to the project._

 _I understand that this vow is completely voluntary. My decision not to take this vow will not be held against me in any way, but I will simply not be included in the project._

 _X_ _ _ _ _ _ __

Draco reread the document three times before his brain started functioning like a Slytherin. He cleared his throat. "Miss Granger?" he asked politely. "I think there may be some information that I need before I can start on my assignments."

"Write your requests down and I'll answer them as I have time," Hermione told him with a significant look at his bracelet. She waved her wand, and a blank parchment and quill appeared before Draco.

Draco nodded, and he wrote: _Why did you ask me to help you?_

He waited a second, and a line appeared on the parchment in answer. _We thought it might be difficult to hide from you living here. We also thought that you cared about Snape and would like to help. Lastly, you think in a different way than that could be useful to us._

Draco considered, and then wrote: _I have some conditions._

He saw Hermione sigh across the room, and the parchment answered, _What are they?_

He thought for a minute, wondering what he wanted the most. Draco could almost admit that Harry and friends had been as kind to them as they had been able to be given the guidelines of the Tribunal, but he had a need to have a few concessions. Feeling some kind of power in this crazy situation would go a long way towards making him feel better. He wrote:

 _I want full access to all information_

 _I want to be treated as an equal during dinner when the silencing charm is on_

 _I want an equal vote in deciding what happens to Snape's body should we find it_

He waited, and then the answers appeared:

 _With time and trust, maybe._

 _This seems reasonable, as long as you realize that equal goes both ways. If Harry isn't your guardian, he doesn't protect you either._

 _If you help us significantly, then yes._

Nodding, Draco took the agreement and signed it.


	10. Chapter 10 - An Equal Dinner

That night at dinner, after the silencing charm went on, Draco smirked at each of them, looking them in the eyes.

"Prats, the lot of you," he smirked.

"Alright, test it out," Ron told him. "But I'll punch you in the nose if you say 'mudblood' again."

Draco smirked, but took the warning. He may be an equal, but Ron had several stone on him and had a lot of older brothers. Draco knew better than to pick a fight.

"Should we talk about the project while we have the time?" Harry asked. "I think this time is wasted on threats and insults."

"Very well," Draco said. "So I agreed to your terms of confidentiality. What is all of this about?"

Hermione, with a nod from Harry, said, "We told you about Snape's body being missing. We have reason to believe that it never left Hogwarts."

"Why do you say that?" he asked.

"Well, the wards were broken, but not altogether disabled," Hermione explained. "Even in the chaos, disapparation would have been difficult. We have other evidence that points to the body being moved, not disapparated."

"Where would it have been moved to?" Draco asked reluctantly.

"Somewhere in the castle," Harry answered. "Maybe the room of requirement or some other place."

"This is great conjecture," Draco said, waving his hand. "But are you really interested in just finding his body or is this interest more that he's alive?"

There was silence, and then Harry answered, "I have hope, though it is very small, that he may have survived somehow."

"So you're going to go rescue him and do what? Bring him back as a death eater to face the tribunal? I think you used up your hero status on me, Harry."

"He's right, Harry," Ron agreed. "Maybe we should launch a preemptive strike just in case he is found alive. If nothing else the man deserves to be on chocolate frog cards."

Harry nodded, saying, "I am happy to provide testimony and pensieve memories of him to clear his name."

"I'll talk to my boss," Ron smiled. "I don't think it would be that difficult. Especially for someone who's dead."

"I'm willing to use veritaserum if we agree to questions beforehand," Harry told him.

"I doubt that would be necessary, mate," Ron told him. "You're a war hero, after all."

"We also have to think about if he did survive and is in some form of stasis," Draco told them. "Then we need to have an antidote for that damned snake that bit him."

"I can brew that," Hermione told him, nodding. "I'll research to make sure, but I think a standard antidote potion from a bezoar should work. We should also have blood replenishers and tissue restorers as well. I'll get to work on making a kit."

"I can help with that too," Draco said quietly, offering in a way that could be refused in case the boys decided that he wasn't to be trusted again.

"No funny business," Ron growled, remembering the attack. "Or I'll paste you."

Draco nodded, his ears going slightly pink at the memory of attacking Hermione. Really, it had been really . . . well . . . horrible for him to do. There wasn't another word.

"I'm working on getting a diagram of the castle and nearby places he could hide," Harry announced. "Though that's a nearly impossible task, perhaps I can make at least a few educated guesses."

They nodded, realizing the plan. Everyone had their jobs.

Then, Harry straightened up and looked at Draco. "There's something else to talk about," he said firmly. "I wonder, Draco, if you'd like to go to Hogwarts with me in the fall?"

"Hogwarts?" he asked.

"Well, I was thinking you could be my teaching assistant, you know, grade papers and such. And I was thinking it would get you out of the house, and maybe you could even assist us there with our project."

"Will people know?" Draco croaked.

The three looked at each other, and Ron coughed. "It was in the papers, mate," he told him. "A bit dodgy, sure, you know how the papers are. But they recorded almost everything that was said pretty accurately."

Draco blushed with shame, he couldn't imagine going back to Hogwarts as defenseless as a child and with Harry Potter in charge of him to boot. But it would also be good to be back, to see people, to regain somewhat of a normal life instead of being shut up like a house elf.

"I want it to be your choice," Harry told him. "You don't have to do it, I can see why you'd be torn both ways. But if you want to do it, I want to order you to do it for the Ministry's benefit tomorrow. If you don't, well, we'll figure out something else that I can do that's mean and cruel to you."

Draco nodded, and made a decision. "I'd like to go," he told him.

"We'll have to work out the never being too far from me," Harry said. "But I'm sure we can work it out. Now there's another thing I wanted to talk about that's decidedly less comfortable for all of us. I wanted to talk about your punishments."

Draco blushed again, looking away. "We don't have to have the whole team here for this," he muttered.

"We do," Harry said. "It affects all of us. Now I want to say first off that if it weren't required, I wouldn't be taking a paddle to you."

"You expect a thank you?"

"No, I don't," Harry replied evenly. "But I also think we're doing it wrong. I'm spanking you as you would be spanked by a teacher or something."

"Yes?" Draco asked insolently.

"But I don't think that's how families do it," Harry said. He found his own ears turn pink. He would rather walk on his tongue than have this conversation, and he was certainly not going to explain to Draco all of it. The truth was that the last time he had taken the paddle to Draco it had reminded him too strongly of his Uncle Vernon. They had to do it differently because Harry couldn't take it. So he had read about how spanking worked in families, and asked Ron about it too. And he had made a decision.

"What do you know about it?" Draco demanded.

"More than I want to talk with you about," Harry told him, working on keeping his voice calm. "Now be quiet and listen."

"We are equals at dinner," Draco shot back.

"And I will equally hex you to your seat and gag your mouth," Harry replied with an edge of menace in his voice. "You can say whatever you want, but just listen first, alright?"

Draco nodded, angry and embarrassed. But he also knew that even though they were granting him equal status, they were all armed and he wasn't. This wasn't the time for pushing it.

"I am going to spank you like a family does," Harry told him.

"And how is that?" Draco asked, his voice dripping sarcasm.

"Over my lap," Harry told him, his voice tight. "And I'm going to stay with you for a while afterwards."

"What?" Draco demanded, his voice cracking.

Ron snorted and Hermione blushed, not knowing what to say.

"It's how Ron's father spanks him," Harry replied.

"Harry!" Ron gasped, snorting again. "I didn't realize that's why you were asking me!"

"Ron's father puts him over his lap," Harry explained. "And uses a paddle. He hugs him after as well, but we don't have to do that. But I do want to stay with you afterwards."

"Why change it?" Draco asked, croaking with indignity. "This is so embarrassing!"

"Because I can't bloody well do it otherwise," Harry answered, looking down and trying to prevent his voice from breaking.

Hermione saw Harry break a little, and she placed her hand gently on his. "Do you want a calming potion, Harry?" she asked softly.

"No, I'm okay," he told her. "I'm okay. Draco, I don't want to talk about it, but I need you to believe me that I have to do it differently. I can't spank you like that anymore."

"I want a reason, Potter," Draco ground out. "Or I will not submit to it."

"You will submit if I order you to," Harry answered, his voice hardening.

Hermione interrupted, patting Harry's hand. "You should tell him, Harry," she said softly.

"How do you know?" he asked incredulously.

"You must have thought me daft if I hadn't noticed," Hermione told him. "The way you held yourself when you first came back to school, the weight you lost over the summer. The way it hurt to sit down the first week of class. Ron knew too."

"I never said anything because you seemed so ashamed about it," Ron admitted. "You tried so hard to hide it when you first came to school. But I shared a room with you for years, Harry. Do you think I wouldn't notice the marks?"

""I had hoped you wouldn't," Harry answered, sounding near tears.

"Draco, Harry's family beat him," Hermione told him, deciding it would be easier for her to say it. "Punishing you like that is making him too upset. He's trying to figure out a way to do it that won't make him feel like he's being his Uncle."

Harry blinked, managing to keep the tears from falling. He had thought that all this time he had hidden his secret from everyone. He should have known that his friends would be able to see through his subterfuge. He was amazed that they had gone all that time without confronting him about it, though. They must have known his level of shame was just too high to talk about it.

"I see," Draco tells him, nodding. "But it is worse on me. Why should I do it?"

"Don't be a prat!" Ron growled. "Harry's really embarrassed about this."

"Not my problem," Draco retorted.

"I'm going to make it your problem," Ron growled, advancing.

"I'll give you a choice," Harry interrupted. "Ron, no need to punch him. Draco, I'll give you a choice. When the time comes, I'll offer you less whacks if you go over my lap. But you will have the choice. I can always take calming draughts afterwards if I need to."

Harry felt exposed and embarrassed and just wanted to end the conversation as quickly as possible. "Let's spend the rest of our time on something more important," Harry said. "Let's talk details on the special project."

* * *

 _My thanks to Klynn79 for helping me think through this chapter._


	11. Chapter 11 - Tea with the Headmistress

Angst aside, bringing Draco in on the project actually proved to bring their research along quickly. Draco continued to do chores in the morning and study in the afternoon, and found that the studies that were assigned to him by Hermione often had to do with the "special project." He wrote an essay about the importance of every ingredient and antidote to the draught of living death potion, and then he had to research antidotes for snake venom. He made lists of potions that could imitate death, potions that could induce stasis, and potions that could hide and locate someone. They had him write essays on potion cures for stasis spells and curse protections. He also began to brew - they expanded the rudimentary lab that Hermione had set up in the basement. He started simply, but was soon brewing poison antidotes, blood replenishers, and then the Wiggenweld potion, which could wake someone from a magically induced sleep. He also stocked up the household on the everyday potions they seemed to be depleting - especially the calming draughts.

Despite the difficulties of the first few days, Draco began to adapt to being in the household. It had been so long since he had lived a life that felt somewhat normal - whatever that was. But all he knew was that since the Dark Lord had returned and taken proprietary ownership over his family, his life had been horrible. It had all been a game of hide and seek - trying to hide, trying to do what he was supposed to do, and spending all of it worrying about getting caught or getting punished by his father or the Dark Lord.

It had been a long time since he was normal. It was a very long time since he felt like he could trust anybody. He had grown up trusting and admiring his parents, though his father had been a touch too authoritarian and his mother had always been a touch too clingy. He had dealt with his mother through firm reassurance, and he had dealt with his father through polite obedience. When he failed with his mother he submitted to petting and hovering, when he failed with his father he submitted with as much dignity as possible to the cane. But even so he mostly admired and trusted them for most of his childhood. They would never put him in danger, and they would never show weakness.

But then the Dark Lord returned. Instead of the noble and powerful cause going forward with power and glory, it was very sneaky. The Dark Lord didn't reward his loyal followers, he tortured them. Seeing his father tortured with the cruciatus had been unnerving, but watching the Dark Lord make him subservient was even worse. He didn't assign Draco the noble, dark task of assassinating one of the leaders of the Order of the Phoenix with glory and honor, but instead with threats and fear. He saw the fear on his father's face when he was assigned the task, and his mother cried with agony. The Dark Lord almost seemed to revel in their pain, the pain of putting their only son in a place of such danger. And Draco had hated him for it. Instead of being eager for his first task, he had hated the one he was supposed to be loyal to. And he hated him for putting that fear on his parents' faces. And the last time he had seen that look on his parents' face was the day of the trial . . . but he didn't want to think about that. But he found the memory of their faces was coming back more and more.

"Whatcha doing?" Harry asked him, coming up from behind him.

Draco's stomach clenched and body jumped, and he gritted his teeth not to yell at his guardian. _Didn't that bloody Gryffindor know how to make enough noise not to sneak up on people?_

"I have to go to Hogwarts to sort out my classroom this afternoon, would you like to come with me?" Harry asked him.

"Hogwarts?" Draco croaked, surprised. He still hadn't decided if he wanted to take Harry up on his offer of being his assistant.

"It might give you an idea if you want to be my assistant," Harry explained. "The first time back is going to be the hardest, wouldn't you rather try it out without students there?"

"Well, I can't fault your logic," Draco told him. "But I'm trying to mop the floor right now."

"I would never hesitate to interfere with your work," Harry smirked. "We'll go after lunch."

"Are there . . . any Slytherins left?" Draco asked, trying to keep his voice from cracking.

"There are," Harry answered. "But they did take the hardest hit, both in the war and in the war trials afterwards. Professor Slughorn has agreed to take over Potions and being head of house until a suitable replacement could be found."

Draco muttered something, looking down at his mop.

"There were followers of Voldemort from every house," Harry told him quietly. "And don't forget that the man that saved my life countless times, saved yours from the guilt of killing Dumbledore and then being killed by Voldemort as well was a consummate Slytherin. WIthout him the war would have been lost."

"It's hard that so many of them have been lost," Draco replied sadly. "It's senseless. We Slytherins are supposed to be so cunning, how could we have been so mistaken?"

"The idea of power is seductive, I guess," Harry shrugged. "And with all the 'pureblood' nonsense that the Slytherins like, well, I guess it was attractive. I mean, the Slytherins really need to rethink some of their values, but I have no doubt that they will reorganize and emerge just fine."

"I hope you're right," Draco answered, feeling strangely comforted by the ridiculous Gryffindor.

"And speaking of that consummate Slytherin," Harry said. "I have an interview with the Wizengamot tomorrow. Would you like to come?"

"No," Draco replied, paling. "I have no interest in going there again."

"I understand. See you at lunch."

Draco found Hogwarts to feel surreal. Though it had only been four months since that final battle, of which he hadn't really participated much, it still felt so different. Gone were the Carrows and all of their insanity, gone was the piles of rubble and scorch marks. Obviously many wizards had been working on repairing the school in time for classes to start next week.

"Let's go call in on McGonagall," Harry urged. "She wanted to see you."

"She's going to transform me into a cockroach," Draco grimaced. "She never did like me much."

"Well, technically you're underage and unarmed," Harry smirked back. "And under my protection. I think Headmistress McGonagall will act appropriately."

"And if I get changed into a cockroach?"

"Well, that should get you out of chores," Harry laughed.

Headmistress McGonagall was indeed far more gracious than Draco expected. She actually ordered tea and biscuits and invited them to sit down with her.

"How are you finding your guardianship, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked politely, sipping her tea.

"Better than the alternative," Draco smirked. "Headmistress."

"And what do you think of Harry?" she pressed.

"He's a decent bloke for all that," Draco replied. "But he thinks he can save everyone. Arrogant prat. I think he lived for the moment he could have power over me like this. He's seriously bad at . . ."

"Draco!" Harry interrupted.

"Mr. Potter, please excuse his rudeness," the Headmistress calmed them. "He's had a bit of truth serum, he can't help himself."

"What?" Draco protested, pushing away his tea. "What did you give me?"

"A very small dose of veritaserum," the Headmistress told him calmly. "Not enough to turn you into an espousing idiot, but enough that you cannot lie to me. If I got the dose right, you should have the ability to refrain from answering if you choose."

"Why?" Harry demanded.

"Do you really think I would let you bring a former death eater on campus without me ensuring his loyalties?" the Headmistress asked. "Even Dumbledore insisted on veritaserum with Severus. We simply cannot risk the safety of the students."

"You could have told me!" Harry protested.

"I understand," Draco replied. "It's alright, sir, just don't ask me anything you don't want to know."

"I believe this is my interview," the Headmistress briskly intervened. "Now, Mr. Malfoy, why are you wanting to help Mr. Potter at Hogwarts?"

"I haven't fully decided if I would or not," Draco answered. "But it does sound attractive. It would be good to get out of the house, and I have always loved it here."

"Do you have any plans to hurt or unduly influence any student here?"

"No," Draco simply answered.

"Do you have any plans to harm or to undermine Professor Potter?"

"Not currently," Draco admitted.

"I am not going to ask you about your dark activities," the headmistress told him. "I can read the transcript from when you were under a full dose. But what I do want to know is if you want to change and to become a responsible citizen."

"I want to redeem my family's name," Draco told her with deadly seriousness. "I no longer believe the path to power and glory lies with people like Voldemort."

"And do you promise not to disobey Harry or myself while here at Hogwarts?"

"I can't promise that," Malfoy smirked. "Because the prat deserves a bit. But I will make you a vow that should please you."

"What is that?"

"I vow never to harm a student. I vow that if I do harm a student, whether on purpose or on accident, directly or indirectly, I will immediately confess to Professor Potter. You know he has the obligation to discipline me, correct?"

"Yes, I am aware," the Headmistress told him. "I believe the tribunal recommended corporal punishment as much as possible."

"So you should know how much I wish to avoid that eventuality," he told her smoothly. "And you have the satisfaction to know that my disobedience results in pain and humiliation."

"I do not take pleasure in your situation," the Headmistress assured Draco. "But I understand why the tribunal made that stipulation. I am glad that they showed mercy, Mr. Malfoy, and that you are still with us. We need all the Slytherins we can get to rebuild what has been so broken by your house."

"Thank you, Headmistress," Draco told her.

"Here," the Headmistress offered him a biscuit from a tin beside her. "The antidote is in this biscuit. We must return to you your Slytherin cunning."

"Thank you, Madame," he replied, accepting the cookie.

"Harry, he may stay if he chooses," the Headmistress decided. "But you are to always keep an eye on him. And report to me any egregious behavior on his part. I trust you to take care of petty problems."

"Thank you, Headmistress," Harry laughed.

"You know, you can call me Minerva now," she told him. "We're colleagues."

"I'm afraid it might take me a bit longer to get used to that," Harry smirked. "It's hard enough not to call you 'professor.'"

"Now tell me about this plan to exonerate Snape. After your schooldays problems with the late professor, this is quite noble of you to do."

"When I found out why he had done everything, it changed my perception of the man," Harry answered. "And to be honest, he was always kind of a git to me. But nobody can argue that he protected me numerous times, and indeed without him the war would have been lost. He deserves to be honored for that."

"I quite agree," the Headmistress answered. "And it would do the incoming Slytherins some good to have one of their own recognized as a war hero. I heartily approve, and let me know if my testimony for his time as a spy for the order would be at all helpful."

"But didn't you believe he had betrayed us all?" Harry asked her incredulously.

"Of course," she answered, exasperated. "What does that have to do with anything? Obviously the man's skill when coupled with Dumbledore's grand plans fooled me; they were good at what they did. And Severus' completing of his duty depended on him fooling everyone, even me. I admire his skill."

Harry nodded, but said ruefully, "I wish he hadn't had to be so skilled."


	12. Chapter 12 - Chocolate Frogs

"Professor Potter," the head wizard of the Wizengamot intoned. "Do you swear that the testimony that you are about to render is accurate and full?"

"I do," Harry swore. Ron had been right, they had not insisted on Veritaserum.

"And do you swear that the pensieve memories that you have provided for our scrutiny are accurate and not tampered with?"

"I do," Harry swore.

"What are your motivations for bringing this suit to clear the name of Headmaster Severus Snape?"

"He was a good man and a good spy for the Order," Harry told them. "He saved my life. I want him to be able to be on chocolate frog cards."

"Are you mocking this proceeding, professor?" one of the other wizards asked sharply.

"Not at all," Harry told him, trying to smile affably. "I just want him to be recognized for the work he did, and not have history record him as a death eater."

"But he was a death eater," a small, petite witch at the front argued. "He had the mark and everything."

Harry sighed, he knew this would come up. "I believe he got the mark as a young man," Harry explained. "He saw the error of his ways, and turned spy for Dumbledore in the first wizarding war, working for the Order of the Phoenix. He continued during the next war. Unfortunately, his role as spy took him so deep into Voldemort's confidence that he wasn't able to maintain contact with the Order after Dumbledore's death. He knew that in order to succeed, everyone had to believe that he was a death eater and the killer of Dumbledore."

"But he did kill Dumbledore," the small witch protested.

"You've seen my memories about it," Harry told her. "And the memories that Snape provided for me. He didn't murder Dumbledore, he put the man out of his misery at his own insistence."

"You seem to be the savior of hopeless causes," one wizard remarked, and Harry's cheeks blushed at the implications.

"Draco is not a hopeless cause," Harry insisted. "And neither is Severus Snape. Draco did wrong and is now atoning for it, Snape spent most of his adult life atoning for mistakes he made during the first year of his adulthood."

"Maybe pathetic cases, then," another wizard laughed.

"I think if you knew Severus Snape you wouldn't say that," Harry shot back. "I think you very easily could have ended up as potion ingredients for even suggesting it."

"Right you are!" a younger member of the Wizengamot laughed. "I had him for potions on my NEWT level when he was a new professor. Mean, nasty g. . . teacher. Nobody dared disrespect him or they'd be scrubbing cauldrons until they were numb. Even at seventeen."

"Sounds like you got a few detentions," another wizard commented.

"As a professor he was mean and nasty but fair," another wizard commented. "I was a Ravenclaw and learned a lot on my NEWT level classes."

"Hardly exculpatory evidence," the small witch in front answered. "He could be an effective teacher and still pledge eternal loyalty to the Dark Lord."

"Why does this even matter?" another wizard asked. "The man is dead."

"It matters," Harry told him, deciding to interrupt the other wizards. "It matters. What was the war about anyway? Who was in charge? No, it was about what was the truth. Is it true that muggles should be oppressed by wizarding kind? Is it true that purebloods are better than mixed bloods or muggle born? Is it true that one man should be able to intimidate and control everything? Of course not. But these are what we fought about. And now the truth is before you. Was Severus Snape an evildoer? A stooge of Voldemort and the murderer of Dumbledore? Or was he a spy for the order, loyal to the last minute, and one of the greatest heroes of this wizarding war? Was he instrumental in bringing down the madman that was Voldemort? Does the man deserve a chocolate frog card?"

Harry, upon returning home, looked Hermione and Draco in the face and walked to the sitting room. There, on the mantle above the fireplace, he had placed the chocolate frog card for one Former Headmaster Severus Snape.

"You did it, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed happily.

"The head of the Wizengamot conjured a card for me herself," Harry told them proudly. "In the end, it was overwhelming to vote to not only exhonorate Snape but also to honor him. He is going down on the list of honorable wizards killed in combat in the war."

"Ron will be so pleased," Hermione said. "Do you think he knows?"

"Shacklebolt was there, so I'm sure he does," Harry said, and then eyeing Draco's bracelet, remembered caution. "It feels so right to honor a fallen comrade like this, I'm glad the ministry allowed it."

"You're right," Hermione answered, seeing Harry's glance at the bracelet. "I feel that this issue is laid to rest. Except we're going to have to buy enough of the chocolate frog cards so that all of us get a copy."

"Ron will be so pleased," Harry laughed. "Now, I believe that I have some school year preparations left to do, if you two would like to join me?"

That night at dinner the mood was definitely celebratory. Everyone had their own chocolate frog to open for pudding (though nobody got a Snape card, alas), and in general feeling good about the first part of their plan. There was an unspoken acknowledgement that the chocolate frog card, though seeming trivial, was for each of them a bit of a eulogy. They each knew the odds against Snape surviving, so even if they could do nothing to solve the mystery of the disappearance of his body or even the sliver of hope they had of his survival, at least they could redeem his memory. People would now see him has a powerful and talented wizard who was a spy for good, rather than just another death eater that they could cheer his passing.

"It's good to see a Slytherin honored," Draco said, sipping his water and feeling more relaxed in his hour of "equal" time that he got.

"That's essentially what McGonagall said," Harry told him. "She said that Slytherin needed to rebuild, and that they more than any other house really needed to be able to find themselves again. Perhaps Snape, even dead, can do that."

"Tall order for a half-blood," Draco commented, though Harry had noticed he had chosen a less offensive term than "mudblood." "But he was head of Slytherin, and a Headmaster. So no slouch either."

"Even for a good wizard he was still a mean git," Ron smirked. "He seemed bound and determined to get us all to hate him."

"That was part of his cover, Ron," Hermione laughed. "He had to be seen favoring Slytherin and those whose parents were in power. It was all part of the act, setting himself up as the spy. Though if he is alive I still owe him a hex for that comment about my teeth that one time."

"He didn't need to give us so many detentions," Ron argued, rubbing his nose. "Especially Harry. If he loved Harry's mom so much, why was he so awful to Harry?"

"I think part of it was the spy thing," Harry answered. "But I think the other part of it is how much I look like my dad."

"It had to have been hard for Snape to care about your mother so much and see her married to the man who tortured him in school," Hermione acknowledged. "And you were that reminder, sitting in his class every day."

"He was a deeply flawed man," Harry acknowledged. "He is not an easy hero to like, not like Lupin or Dumbledore. But he's still a hero."

"You are making him seem pathetic," Draco complained. "He was a spy and a warrior, not some groveling milksop. He obviously hated Potter because he's obnoxious."

Harry chose to laugh instead of get mad, he was fine not disciplining Draco unless he had to do it. And if the ministry wasn't listening, he wasn't obligated. Ron watched the two carefully, used to watching for signs of flare ups between his brothers. But they both looked fine, so he went back to eating his steak. Kreacher had understood the celebratory nature of the dinner and had broken out the red meat.

"I wasn't the one who tangled with a Hippogriff," Harry answered, taking a bite of his steak.

"Exploding cauldrons?" Draco asked, his brow arched.

"The first flying lesson?" Harry shot back.

"How about all that cheek to Umbridge? You practically begged her to punish you."

"I was annoyed," Harry answered, his ears turning pink.

"Yes, yes, you were both regular hooligans," Hermione laughed. "And I think some of Snape's motivations have to be only explained by the man himself."

"So stage one is complete," Harry said. "Let's start on stage two. We need to figure out where is body might be."


	13. Chapter 13 - The Choice

Draco had known better. He really had. As he was sitting on his bed waiting for Potter like he was a bloody child, he reflected on what had happened. The morning had started normal, he was cleaning out another spare bedroom that hadn't been touched in years, and then he had gone to Hogwarts with Harry to get his room ready.

Yeah, that was where the problem lay, he decided. He just couldn't remember that he was supposed to be like a child. And when he was somewhere familiar, like Hogwarts, it just became easy to be his old self. So when that prat Slughorn had made comments about "pleading imperious" and people getting out of just punishments, he just saw red. With a curse on his lips, he had picked up Potter's wand to issue the hex. He hadn't thought about how it was forbidden, and how Potter was right there. All he thought about was revenge - revenge for a comment clearly aimed at him and his father, and clearly a means of dressing down a formerly powerful heir to the Malfoy name.

And so Draco had reacted. He had started firing off the curse too before the bracelet kicked in, knocking the wand out of his hand and putting him into a full body bind, and making him thump painfully to the floor. Upon reflection he had thought that grabbing a wand would have rendered him unconscious, but apparently it was the body bind for him. Harry had gasped in surprise at his actions, and began stuttering an apology to Slughorn.

"I'm sorry, professor," Harry told him. "I'm not sure what got into him."

"Well, sometimes when people lose all hope of ever being significant again," Slughorn sniffed. "It can be quite a blow to their ego. It makes them act above themselves."

"I promise that he won't do it again," Harry told him. "Or I'll end his tenure as my teaching assistant."

"Just give him a good walloping and we'll call it even," Slughorn ordered Harry. "He needs to learn his new place in the world."

Draco, feeling like he would die of embarrassment that everyone seemed to know about all the details of his guardianship. He could not imagine anything more humiliating than being bound, lying on the floor, and listening to that trumped-up arse telling Harry to wallop, well, his arse. He couldn't believe it! He tried to yell at Slughorn to show his indignity, and realized that Harry had cast a silencing charm on him. Apparently he had anticipated his anger, and his mouth.

Harry had actually been pretty good about it, Draco reflected. He had calmed Slughorn down and ushered him out of the room before he tapped Draco's bracelet and released him. He cancelled the silencing charm, and gave Draco a level glare with his arms crossed. Draco picked himself up off the ground, glowering.

"He had no right to say that!" Draco protested. "And he had no right to tell you to wallop me!"

"But I do," Harry growled back. Then, taking a deeper breath, he calmed his temper. "I have about an hour's worth of work here, Draco. I want you to go home now and go to your room where you will wait for me. Hopefully you can calm down your temper before I get there to talk to you about this."

"There is no way you're punishing me for this, Potter," Draco hissed at him.

"Go now," Harry told him. "And don't say anything that forces me to add to the count."

"Arrogant prat."

"Like that," Harry sighed. "Floo home and follow my instructions or I will put you back in the body bind and take you there myself."

Draco had finally obeyed Harry, and had taken the floo back to their home. He didn't talk to Hermione as he stepped in the kitchen, and instead stormed off to his room and slammed the door. And that brought him to where he was then, sitting on his bed like he was in some sort of bloody time out waiting for Harry to come home and paddle him. The indignity!

But then, as the anger wore off, he began to feel the smallest bit . . . apprehensive. He had grabbed Potter's wand and tried to hex a professor! He couldn't imagine what his father would have done if he had done that under his supervision. He would have thrashed him mercilessly, and he would have been on restriction for weeks after that as well. And that would just have been for grabbing his wand, which was considered an affront to another wizard, let alone one with authority over him. What would have happened if he had grabbed a professor's wand to hex someone?

What would Potter do? The paddle, obviously. Even though they both hated it. Well, if he thought he was going to get Draco to play along and bend nicely over his lap he had another think coming. There was no way he would degrade himself in that way, he didn't care what the incentive or the price would be. Let Potter beat him bloody, he wasn't going to "play family" with him. And if he thought his presence afterwards would be anything other than a bloody nuisance . . .

But then Draco thought of the embarrassment that had stained Harry's face when he realized that his friends had known about his abusive relatives. Draco could see how exposed he had felt, and how hard Harry had worked to find a solution that wouldn't be an issue with his past but could still have him be able to follow the statues of the Familiari Rite. He was trying to protect Draco as well as he could, even though it was bringing back memories of what his family used to do to him. So he took the model of the best father that Harry knew - that prat Weasel's father - and decided that if he could do discipline like that then maybe it wouldn't be too bad. Draco saw how Harry's mind worked, even respected his process, but that still didn't mean he had to play along. He liked that Harry had said that he would be given a choice.

Draco heard the knock, and could hardly believe that the hour was up already. As he checked his body he realized that he had calmed down a lot. He rose when Harry entered the room, feeling that standing made him appear less vulnerable.

"Well, that was stupid," Harry told him as he came in the room, paddle in hand.

"It wasn't exactly thought out," Draco admitted.

"Obviously," Harry agreed. "You know that was one of the basic rules that you weren't supposed to touch a wand, let alone grab mine without permission. And I know Slughorn is a bit of an arse, but trying to hex him like that was completely uncalled for. Don't you know I have to work with the man?"

"He's a prat."

"And you're out of control," Harry told him firmly. "If you do a stunt like that again I can't take you to Hogwarts anymore, and all that that means." Harry looked at the bracelet, and Draco understood. He couldn't help on the project anymore, at least not on site.

"How many?" Draco asked, resigned.

"How many do you think you deserve?" Harry countered.

Draco hadn't expected this question, and thought for a moment. "You gave me eight when I attacked Hermione," he said. "But Slughorn provoked me and Hermione didn't."

"True," Harry told him. "But you also didn't steal my wand with Hermione."

"That's true," Draco acknowledged.

"How about we call it even at ten," Harry told him. "For everything, including grabbing my wand, hexing a professor, endangering my job, and backtalk. Does that sound fair?"

"Fair," Draco nodded. It felt harsh, but he knew it was fair. And far more lenient than his father would have been with him. His stomach clenched in fear, however, the eight he had received before had hurt a lot. He cringed at the idea of ten.

"I will make it five if you bend over my lap for them," Harry acknowledged. "And I think it would also make this easier on both of us."

"Half?" Draco asked, skeptically.

"Your choice," Harry told him, nodding to acknowledge the promise he had made.

Draco considered, he really did. He wanted to yell at Harry and tell him he would take his ten, thank you very much. And for a stroke or two off, he would never have considered it. But the difference between five and ten was very significant, probably the difference between sitting down for breakfast or not. But the thought of him bending over Harry's lap for his punishment, it made his stomach squirm like nothing else. Could he humble himself to do it?

Harry let him decide, he didn't say anything else. He just let him consider, he could see how torn he was.

"I'm not an idiot," Draco finally said. "I'll take the five."

"Alright," Harry nodded. He went over to the bed, feeling awkward himself. He looked at Draco, and felt better that at least Draco was a little smaller than him, it would make the mechanics easier. Although, apparently Arthur Weasley took his boys over his lap even after they were taller than him. Harry sat down on the bed, and then waited for Draco to respond. He seemed frozen. "Over my lap then."

Draco flinched at the command, but nodded his head. Very slowly, he went over to Potter. He couldn't look at Potter's face, just his lap. Slowly and carefully, he bent himself over Harry's lap. He felt Potter's knees firmly beneath his stomach, and took a deep breath to steady himself. Harry placed his hand in the middle of Draco's back and felt his muscles tremble slightly.

"You okay?" Harry asked him, concerned.

"What do you think?" Draco countered. "Just do it, Potter. Get it over with."

Needing no further encouragement, Harry hefted the paddle. He reflected that this did feel a lot different than whacking Draco bent over the bed, he hoped this would make it feel better at least. Right now it just felt awkward. Draco grabbed a pillow and put it under his shoulders and face,

He brought the paddle down sharply, right across the seat of his trousers. Draco hissed in reaction, and clutched the pillow firmly against his chest. Harry adjusted him a little bit, settled him more firmly on his lap, and then let the next swat fall. Harry could feel Draco's muscles tense with the blow, and he let out a breath of air. He gave a small cry on swat three, and hissed again as swat five smacked against his upper thighs. He could feel Draco's hard breaths against his thighs, and how his ribcage shook just a bit. This definitely felt different than whacking him with him bent over the bed, it felt more paternal. Harry found his hand patting Draco's back a little, and he took a deep breath.

"You may get up," Harry released him.

Draco pushed himself up, feeling the stinging in his backside, and curled up on the bed, facing away from Harry. Whenever Draco had been punished by his father, his father had administered the punishment and then left the boy to lick his wounds in privacy. Draco had no idea what Harry would do now in this time that he was supposed to spend with him following his chastisement.

Harry stood up from the bed and deposited himself on the desk chair. He sighed, rubbing his face and placing the paddle on the desk with a thump. For a few minutes they both just breathed.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked Draco.

"Of course," he ground out. "Stings like hell, though."

"I think that's the point," Harry told him.

"I guess. Hurts less than the cane, though. Much more embarrassing, however."

"I could see that," Harry said. "I've never had the cane, myself."

"So what did these abusive muggles hit you with, then?" Draco asked.

Harry realized he had invited the question, but it still felt raw. He hadn't talked about this with anybody, not even Hermione and Ron. Not Sirius either. But he also wanted to comfort Draco, and he wondered if sharing some of his humiliation would help.

"Sorry, ministry, I'm silencing this," he said and cast the silencing charm over the bracelet. He just couldn't handle strangers knowing this information.

"Mostly hands and fists," Harry answered. "A cuff here and a slap there. They would lock me in the cupboard without food for days and days. But when I was cheeky or disrespectful or did something kind of naughty, I got the belt."

"And you bent over the bed for it?"

"Pushed over the bed, I would say," Harry answered, flushing. "They didn't calmly tell me to bend over and that sort of thing like I do with you. It's a shout and a yell and a shove, and then the belt came off."

"Did you deserve it?"

"Sometimes, I guess," Harry told him. "But it was mostly minor stuff. Although one time it was for hitting my cousin, and that time it was brutal. I never did that again."

"How many did you get?" Draco asked, interested.

"I lost count," Harry answered. "I never had a number, so I never knew when it would end. That's why I give you a number, I always thought that would make it easier to bear."

"Why didn't you tell anybody at Hogwarts?" Draco asked. "Dumbleshorts would never have sent his golden boy to be the whipping boy to muggles."

"It was just so, well, so embarrassing," Harry told him. "And _Dumbledore_ told me that I was safer there than anywhere else. I sort of thought I deserved it most of the time, too. So I just put up with it, and when I was at school I tried to pretend that the Dursleys didn't exist. When I got older they didn't do it as much, maybe once or twice a summer just to remind me that they could. Of course, he always tried to get me good right before school started. He said he liked the idea of me sitting at 'that freak school' with his handiwork on my bum. The last few years other things happened to thwart that plan, though."

"So did smacking me over your lap help at all with that?" Draco asked, curiously.

"It did," Harry answered. "This felt much different, I didn't feel like my uncle. I don't know what it was like for you, but for me it was much more like family. Was it okay for you?"

"That was a really hard thing to have me do," Draco admitted. "Easier than getting ten swats? I don't know. Maybe this one time it was not so bad, but it made me feel so much like a child. I'm letting you know now I don't think I'll go over your lap again, so I hope you got it out of your system."

"It will be your choice," Harry assured him. Hesitating, he asked, "Did your Father beat you very much?" Harry asked.

"Rarely," Draco told him. "it was a caning, not a beating. I was expected to take it like a man, like a proper Malfoy. I bent over the desk, he prescribed the number of strokes, and I did my best not to cry out more than I had to. It was all very proper."

"Did you deserve it?" Harry asked, curious.

"Of course I did," Draco told him. "My father may have been hard, but he was fair."

"Was it always a caning? Even when you were little?"

"Of course not, Potter," Draco rolled his eyes. "Before I was eight it was over his lap, pretty much like you just did. That's probably why it makes me feel so young."

Harry nodded. "So did me telling you about my horrible relatives make this situation any better for you?" Harry asked.

"Maybe," Draco told him. "I like that you've been hit before, at least you know what it feels like. And, you are trying to make it easier on me."

"I wish it wasn't the rules," Harry told him wearily. "After a year we are hoping to apply to have the rules changed, but Hermione says she's not sure of the outcome."

"They want me to suffer," Draco acknowledged. "I can't blame them. I've done plenty of bad things, just read the papers."

"I think you were just mostly trying to survive," Harry told him.

"Maybe," Draco looked at his hands. "But I wonder. What if I had told the Dark Lord to shove it when he told me to kill Dumbledore?"

"He would have crucio'd you to death," Harry confirmed promptly. "Probably made you watch as he tortured your parents too."

"What do you know about it?" Draco asked. "You never served Lord Psycho."

"No, but I know his type," Harry said. "Abusers always have to win, and the more evil they are the more they are willing to sacrifice to do so. He could not have let you win. Once under his power your choices were suicide or to endure to survive."

"Don't be a prat, Potter. You only know this because you had the same choice with those muggles of yours, and made the same choice I did. You survived too."

Later, Draco felt stupid and sentimental for saying what he had to Harry. Harry was his guardian, his childhood nemesis, and not a guy he would share a butterbeer with if he had a choice. But in that moment, feeling vulnerable with a stinging backside and humbled by his punishment, he was softened for just a moment and offered Harry the same absolution that he had given him.


	14. Chapter 14 - School Starts

Classes started. The first years floated in their boats, the older students took their thestral-drawn carriages, and the house elves put on a feast. Harry watched the students feasting from the very unfamiliar seat of being up front, seated between Hermione and Professor Sprout. He was barely older than the students at the end of their table, how were they going to respect him as a professor? But, when he remembered his days in the DA, he was able to calm down a little. He had even taught students older than himself that time.

He also got to catch a glimpse of Ginny from his perch up in front. He had thought that them taking some space and time for her to finish her education was wise at the time, but now seeing her face he wasn't so sure. He squirmed uncomfortably seeing her laugh with her friends, shouldn't he be there as well? How was it going to work with him as a professor chasing around a student? This was why we had decided to take the time off . . . he groaned. This was not going to work. He would have to talk to McGonagall.

McGonagall went up to the podium to give the welcoming speech, and Harry winced. This was one of the times he really felt the absence of Dumbledore. But he knew that the students would be watching, and so he stuffed that reaction and gave McGonagall all of the attention that she should have from her faculty.

"Welcome, students, to a new era at Hogwarts," she began her speech. "Not one person in this room has escaped loss of some sort, and some much more than others. That war cost us far too many people, and far too much of our community was broken. We all hope and pray that this will never happen again, and that means we have to work together to rebuild. Slytherins have suffered heavy losses, and are suffering the disgrace of so heavily supporting the losing side of the war. But Slytherins are strong, and we need their strength and cunning to rebuild. I would call on them to be like former professor and headmaster Severus Snape, a Slytherin who, when realizing his mistake, did everything he could to atone for it. This year is a time of atonement, of rebuilding, and inter-house cooperation. And I will be really clear; anybody not agreeing with these values is welcome to leave now. Because this school is about building the peace, not about rehashing the war. Thank you."

Harry found himself wishing that the students had taken McGonagall's lecture more to heart. In his first class of the year, a Gryffindor hexed a Slytherin on their way into his classroom. Harry saw it happen, flicked a quick protego charm to turn the hex, and then scowled firmly at the caster. "What do you have to say for yourself?" he asked the boy, his arms folded in front in his best imitation of Snape. "How dare you hex your classmate!"

"But he's just a Slytherin, sir!" the boy protested.

"He is your classmate," Harry responded. "And of a house with a noble, though admittedly colorful lineage. What is your name?"

"Geoffrey McGivers, sir," he replied, starting to realize he was in trouble.

"Well, Mr. McGivers, you will have detention with me tonight at seven and you have cost your house ten points."

"Sir!" the boy protested.

"Sit down before I make it twenty," Harry threatened. He then turned toward the Slytherin, who had been watching in astonishment. "Are you alright?" Harry asked him.

"Fine," the boy spat. "I didn't need your help."

"I'm glad to hear it," Harry answered evenly. "But I still do not endorse dueling in my classroom. This time I did not see you do anything wrong, but there are no free passes here. Okay, everyone please be seated and we can get started."

That afternoon Harry found himself wanting to have tea with McGonagall. He sent Draco home, there was no way that he was going to have such a conversation in front of him. There would be no end of ribbing and comments about him robbing the cradle.

"I see you've seen Miss Weasley," McGonagall observed, handing Harry a cup of tea.

"How did you know?" Harry blushed.

"I'm not blind, Professor," she smirked. "Your jaw nearly hit the table last night. I have taken the liberty of altering Miss Weasley's class schedule."

"You have?"

"She agreed that she did not need to take Defense," she confirmed, sipping her tea. "I believe that her skills in that arena are quite advanced. Professor Granger has agreed to give her extra tutoring to pass her NEWTs in that subject."

"Thank you, Headmistress," Harry breathed easier. "We had agreed to take the year off so she could be a student and I could be a professor . . ."

"But the heart is a bit harder to control, isn't it?" she smiled at him. "Harry, you have given up so much and suffered so much. You should not have to give up the connection you have with Ginny as well."

"Thank you," he replied, quite touched by her sentiment.

"There will, however, be no funny business," she told him, her features firm. "Absolutely no public displays of any kind, and you had better not be doing anything with her that her parents do not approve of. Am I making myself clear?"

"Clear," Harry told her, blushing. "We're not really like that, you know . . ."

"You have so far exhibited a sense of propriety," the Headmistress sniffed. "It will continue. It is one thing to have an approved, modest romance with an of age student, but it is quite another to abuse your position in any way. You must be above reproach."

"I promise," Harry said. "I promise to be extremely careful. I promise to be very respectful and not ever abuse anything."

"You may give her a kiss on occasion," McGonagall smiled slightly. "Provided it is a discreet and a chaste one."

"Thank you," Harry smiled back, feeling like he could breathe again. He was going to be able to have a relationship with Ginny again, and he felt like the earth was going to sing in response. And McGonagall and not only known, but approved! Where was she right now?

"I understand your ward has had a few problems," McGonagall ventured, sipping her tea softly.

"It's a lot to get used to," Harry admitted. "We're still trying to figure out how it all works. It's very awkward to have someone as your ward who is your same age."

"And yet you volunteered for the job."

"I didn't feel like there was much choice," Harry admitted, nibbling on a biscuit. "I'm not sure many other people could have convinced the Wizengamot. If I hadn't, he probably would have been executed."

"Some people would say that he would have paid for his crimes."

"Do you think that, Headmistress?" Harry asked her. "Isn't he just the boy that I was playing Quidditch against and serving detention with a few short years ago?"

"Perhaps," McGonagall's lips smiled just a little. "I admire what you've done, Potter, though I think it may be a bit misguided. I worry how you will feel if this fails and the tribunal reinstates Draco's sentence."

"Well, it would be hard," Harry admitted. Then, he thought philosophically, "At least I would know that I had done what I could."

"And if you grow attached to him? What if becomes like Ron and Hermione to you?"

"I don't know if that could happen," Harry answered honestly. "But if it does, well, I guess that's the price I pay."

"You are awfully cavalier with your friendships," she told him. Then, quietly, she said, "I would hate to see you hurt, Harry."

"Thank you," he told her meaningfully. "I know you have always tried to look out for me. But this is one of those situations I got myself into."

"I believe you had some help," she replied dryly, but his speech had mollified her. She did not wish ill to Draco, of course, but Harry was a priority in her mind. "Well, if he's to be here you should make full use of him. It would do him good to have him do meaningful work."

"We have him signed up to take a potions course by correspondence," Harry told her, straightening. "And I was thinking he could help me mark papers and such here. Maybe he could even supervise detentions or give tutoring."

"He was always a bright student," McGonagall nodded. "I'm glad to see that you are taking his educational rehabilitation seriously."

"Of course," Harry said. "I had a few questions for you too, if you have a minute more?"

"Yes, of course."

"Well, with getting Professor Snape exonerated, I was just thinking more about him. I find it curious that his body was never found."

"I suppose," she answered, her brow knitting slightly. "But there were many manner of creatures around during the battle, I would probably conclude that something ate him."

"Something stopped in the middle of the battle to eat him?" Harry echoed. "That seems unlikely."

"Well, otherwise I am not sure," she answered, her eyes sharpening. "You saw him die, didn't you? It was your statements that led to a death certificate."

"I did," Harry said. "I saw him bitten, and I saw him die."

"Did you take a pulse?" she asked acerbically.

"I did not," Harry answered. "I was sort of trying to save the wizarding world at the moment."

"Well, so not worry," she told him. "He must have died. Otherwise, where would he have been for the last four months?"

"That's true," Harry told her, and then debated what else to say. Finally, he said, "What if he did go somewhere else? What if he's been, I don't know, stuck somewhere and unable to wake up?"

"I think that highly unlikely," she told him. "But if I were looking for someone at Hogwarts, I would start with that map of yours. Isn't that how you first identified Pettigrew?"

Harry, feeling like smacking his forehead at the idiocy that he had not thought of the map, colored visibly.

"Thank you for the suggestion," he told her. "Tea with you has been most instructive."

"Of course, Professor Potter," she told him smoothly. "And Ginny is just finishing her charms class in about ten minutes."


	15. Chapter 15 - Marauders

_Author's note: There have been a few questions I'd like to clarify, and one is that the bounds of the Familiari specify that Draco needs to be within a certain distance of Harry or confined to their residence. Also, Ginny will be completely off-screen, more like a theoretical construct than an actual person, but an important counterpoint in upcoming negotiations. The fact that she remains largely ignorant of the details of Harry's new role is intentional._

 _I also wanted to take a moment to thank everyone who has read and/or commented on my story, your support is very appreciated. It is an act of bravery for anybody to put their work into a public sphere, and people who leave comments and interact with the author are a very powerful encouragement and catalyst to that. I especially love and welcome comments that challenge me to think more about the story._

* * *

Harry returned home that evening, his cheeks flushed in excitement. Not only had he been able to have a conversation with Ginny, but had found that she was missing him as much as he was missing her. He had even been able to pull her into an empty classroom for a quick kiss. Mindful of what McGonagall had said, though, he had made it a "chaste" one. But just to be able to touch her again, and the promise of long hours filled with private conversations - he couldn't believe that he would be able to be with her again so soon. He had very nearly forgotten the Marauder's map until he had gotten home that night.

When the silencing spell had been enacted, he told his friends about the map.

"Let's go right now!" Ron said. "Blimey Harry, why didn't we think of this sooner?"

"What map?" Draco asked, confused. "How could a map help us?"

"It's a map that shows hidden parts of Hogwarts," Hermione explained. "It also tells where people are located. We used it in school for when we snuck out."

"I knew it!" Draco told them vigorously. "I knew you prats were getting away with everything."

"We were caught a few times," Harry smirked. "But yes, this helped us get away with a lot of things. Including that time in Hogsmeade."

"Prats, the lot of you," Draco declared, though good naturedly. It felt good to have a plan at least, even if he didn't fully understand it.

"So we should go tonight," Hermione decided. "Well after curfew when the students should all be in bed."

"Should we bring the cloak?" Ron asked, grinning. "I don't think we all fit under it anymore."

"Hermione and I are professors now," Harry laughed. "I don't think we need the cloak and worry about detentions."

"Maybe for old time's sake?"

"You never know what might be useful," Hermione smiled.

"If you're going to do this we should be a little more methodical, don't you think?" Draco rolled his eyes. "You guys are making this sound like a prank. We are actually trying to retrieve the body of our old potions master, certainly that calls for some decorum?"

Draco's comment instantly sobered them, and he was right. This was not a prank or one of the adventures they got up to in school, this was actually serious. "Well, that potions master would like nothing more than catching us out of bed after curfew," Harry said. "I don't think this has to be sad, but I think we need to be careful. If Snape's body could be hidden somewhere for four months, there must be magical protections. Let's be careful."

"Do I get to go?" Draco asked carefully.

"I think this project needs to stay secret a bit longer," Harry answered carefully, knowing Draco would be disappointed.

Draco shrugged, trying to seem like he didn't care.

"After we're through I can tell you what happened," Harry promised. "And you can help us from home."

"I understand," Draco scoffed, trying to pretend it didn't hurt.

"It's the bloody bracelet," Harry explained, frustrated. "We just can't take the chance."

Harry could not help feeling like he was in third year and sneaking out with the marauder's map and being caught by Snape. It was certainly ironic that Snape was who they were looking for, and the irony wasn't lost on the others either. The three of them went to Harry's office and spread the map out on the desk. Armed with magnifying glasses, they began to examine the map carefully.

Hours passed. Harry ordered tea from the house elves, and still they looked.

"I don't think this is going to work, Harry," Ron said at some point in the night. "I see all sorts of students tucked up in their towers - and some bloke named Thaddeus White who is raiding the pantry - but no Severus Snape."

"We haven't looked everywhere," Hermione replied, her voice tired. "But if we don't find it soon we're going to have to come back tomorrow."

"I think there's someone that we can ask," Harry said. "We're done here tonight. But there's someone that we can ask to help us."

"Who?" Hermione asked. "All of the makers of the original map are dead."

"There's one man left who knows more than any of us," Harry replied. "Ron, we need to talk to George."

"But Harry, he's, well, he's . . ."

"I know, Ron," Harry told him. "But I think he might be our best chance here. Look, tomorrow's Saturday, let's go have a chat."

The next day, Harry found himself eating a hearty breakfast at the burrow. Though Kreacher was a decent cook, he enjoyed Mrs. Weasley's crispy sausages and fresh eggs. And being Saturday they also had fresh cinnamon buns, and Harry couldn't seem to eat enough of them. Draco sat at the table in the burrow, feeling as if the house were going to come down around his ears at any moment, and tried to endure the solicitude heaped on him by the Weasley matron. She, of course, had insisted on Draco coming to the burrow so they could apologize as a family for George's kidnapping, and Draco endured it as he would a punishment.

"Draco, dear, would you like another cinnamon bun?" she asked solicitously.

"No, thank you, Madame," he replied as politely as he could. He had to admit they were quite tasty, but he certainly did NOT want another one. He would instead sit here with genteel aplomb and endure until that prat Potter would allow him to go home again. Stupid git, dragging him here.

"Mrs. Weasley," Hermione started, seeing Draco's patience would not likely last too long. "Would it be alright if we visited with George?"

"He's, well, he's not well," Mrs. Weasley answered, turning away.

"I know," she answered. "How could he be? But we have a problem that he might be able to help us with."

"Problem?" she asked, looking in their faces.

"It's kind of like a puzzle we have," Hermione tried to explain. And it has to do with something with Hogwarts. We need his help."

"Is it dangerous?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"No, mum," Ron hastily told her. "And I think It might actually be good for him to have something else to think about."

"That's true," Mrs. Weasley said. "I can hardly even get him out of the house. Whatever you dears want to do with him is fine, maybe you can get through to him."

"Draco, maybe you should stay down here," Harry told him. "I think maybe for the first visit it would be better to be just us."

"Alright," Draco agreed, though he ground his teeth in frustration. He knew if he challenged his authority then Potter would have to threaten him, and he didn't want that to happen here in the nest of Gryffindors.

The three went up to George's room, each deciding that Ron should be the one to talk. After all, George was more likely to respond to another Weasley, right? Ron licked his lips in nervousness, he wasn't sure how to talk to crazy people, even if they were related.

"Hey George," he greeted, opening the door.

"Ron Weasley," George replied. "Long time no smell."

"Lovely," Hermione grimaced. "Are we all twelve again?"

"Sorry, 'Mione," George apologized. "Didn't know you were with the prat. Come in."

"How are you feeling?" Harry asked him carefully.

"Still crazy," George answered. "Wasn't that your requirement, Harry? My mind had to be healed or I would go to jail?"

"I thought I was being nice under the circumstances," Harry defended himself.

"So nice that I get to talk to Miss Claretta Winsnoss every Tuesday and Friday for an hour," George grimaced. "But I suppose it is better than prison, all told. It would have embarrassed the folks."

"You could have tried NOT kidnapping Harry's ward," Ron remonstrated. "I mean seriously, George, what were you expecting?"

"I don't know," George looked a little lost. "It just seemed to be a good idea at the time. That little prat was always so annoying. I went to go see him, to see how he was all punished from prison. And he was eating food with Harry and Hermione like nothing had ever happened. I snapped."

"And tried to beat the everlasting bogeys out of the guy," Ron affirmed. "Merlin, George, what was Harry supposed to do?"

"Sorry, Harry," George mumbled, seeming like small child. "I won't kidnap your ward and beat the everlasting bogeys out of him ever again."

"I know, you're forgiven," Harry told him quietly. "And George, I want you to know I'm sorry about Fred. He was a good man."

"He was," George agreed, coming close to tears. "He was."

"George, we have a favor to ask of you," Hermione took charge. "We need to ask you about the Marauder's map."

"What kind of prank are you three up to?" George asked, his expression changing drastically. He actually looked a little bit like the old George.

"It's not a prank, really," Harry explained. "Only, well, only we're trying to locate someone at Hogwarts using the map. But there's so many people there, we're having a lot of trouble. Can you help?"

"Of course I can," George grinned.

"Great!" Ron smiled. "Just tell us how and we'll get out of your hair."

"Not so easy, little brother," George told him. "There's a price to my cooperation."

"What is that?" Ron asked suspiciously. "We just bought a case of chocolate frogs . . ."

"No, nothing like that," George told him. "I just want to be able to come along."

"That might be awkward," Harry hesitated. "With Draco, I mean."

"I'll apologize to the git," George agreed, seeming almost like his old self. "Whatever it takes. C'mon, fellas, I can't just stay here. Have mercy on a poor bloke."

"Alright, we'll figure it out," Harry promised. He found he couldn't say no to the man, especially when he was seeming so much like his old self. Harry just couldn't tell him no. "But we're going to have to fill you in on a few things first."

"Spill," George demanded. "I must know the prank."

"It's not really a prank, mate," Ron told him. "More of a mystery. The thing is, Snape's body was never found."

"Missing? Presumed dead?"

"I saw him killed," Harry explained. "But then when I went back for him, well, afterwards, he was gone. There was nothing but a little blood."

"So why are we looking for a body?" George asked. "That seems kind of disturbed. And that's coming from me."

"Well, you see," Hermione explained. "If there's no body, well, there's a chance that he could be alive."

"The Greasy Git alive!" George practically howled.

"He's a war hero," Hermione told him pointedly. "Have some respect."

"An adventure!" George declared. "Fred would be pleased."

"Utmost secrecy, though," Harry told him. "Now, tell us how to do it."

"Not that easy," George smiled. "I'm not telling you until I'm at Hogwarts."


	16. Chapter 16 - Saving Snape

So the next night, four Gryffindors found themselves in Harry's office again. Molly had confiscated George's wand until he could once again be responsible for it, so Ron had to apparate into his bedroom and then side-along apparate him out. Molly was none the wiser.

"Okay, George, how do you do it?" Harry asked him.

"It's easy," George answered, laying out the map. "You simply ask it."

"It's that easy?" Ron asked, whacking George lightly on the arm. "You could have told us."

"But then you would have left crazy boy in his cage," George smiled broadly. "I'd rather be out right now, thank you."

"Alright, I'm game," Harry told him, facing the outspread map. "Where is Severus Snape?"

Then, acting like the map had never acted before, there was a shimmer of light down in the part of the map by the dungeon. "What is that?" Hermione asked, moving closer to the spot where the light had appeared.

"Severus Snape!" Ron howled triumphantly. "Look! There!"

"You know what that means," George said, smiling widely. "The map wouldn't find a dead body. It means that the Git clings to life in some way."

"Then let's get going," Harry said. "Down to the dungeons."

They followed the map, feeling altogether like schoolchildren on a prank, and were very happy not to be caught by any of those said schoolchildren.

"Filch is coming!" George warned ducking behind a drapery.

"We're adults and professors!" Harry hissed. "Filch can no longer give us detention!"

"Good evening, Professors," Filch greeted them, seeing Hermione and Harry first. "Out for an evening stroll?"

"We're conducting some research on portraits that we did not want to do in front of the students," Hermione explained. "I suspect you remember Ron and George Weasley?"

"The Weasleys are well known," Filch nodded at them. "Or notorious as the case may be. Well, since you are legally now allowed to be out of bed, I shall continue with my rounds."

"Thank you, Mr. Filch," Harry told him, trying to sound like a professor but coming off sounding like a nervous second year.

After Mr. Filch and the cat were long gone, they continued their walk.

"I thought he was going to grab my ear!" Ron joked. "Man, why can't that guy retire?"

"Over here," George motioned. "This way."

They wound themselves down into the dungeon slowly, with George leading the way. Finally, they came to a small alcove that nobody remembered seeing before, and George halted.

"He's here," George said. "Just behind this wall."

"Is it like a room of requirement?" Hermione thought outloud. "I mean, there's no reason to think there was only one of them."

"This looks like maybe Snape's secondary potion store," Harry told them. "Maybe? I think it might have a 'notice me not' charm on it."

"I think you're right!" Hermione smiled. "I've heard Slughorn complain about not being able to open it! Apparently the locks are not responding to any spell done by him or by the Headmistress. He was practically drooling about what valuable ingredients might be in the store, but is completely frustrated at not being able to get in."

"If McGonagall can't get in, what chance do we have?" Ron asked. "I mean, come on."

"I brought the elder wand for a short outing," Harry told him. "Let's see if that does something."

"The elder wand?" George's eyes grew large. "Harry?"

"Just forget about it," Harry told him. "It's a long story. Now, let's see if we can get this lock open."

"Why did you bring the elder wand?" Hermione hissed at him. "I thought you were going to leave it . . . you know . . . "

"I was," Harry acknowledged. "But I was thinking, that this wand was part of why Snape was killed in the first place, and I thought that it might be useful to help him. I don't know, I thought it sort of felt poetic, I guess."

"Give it a go," Ron told him. "Let's see if it works."

Harry held his own wand first, and said firmly, "Alohomora!" The door jiggled, but did not unlock. Nodding, Harry picked up the elder wand. He cleared his throat again, planted his feet firmly, and felt the uncomfortable power of the wand connect with him. "Alohomora!" he again commanded, and this time the handle and the door flew open with a flash of white. Ron cast Lumos as they peered into the darkened supply cabinet, and every one of them held their breath. The stores were organized precisely, just as Snape always had everything organized. Ron swept his wand up, and then down, his light dancing on the hundreds of vials and jars that lined the walls. As it swept down, there was a collective intake of breath as the light fell upon the inert body of one Severus Snape.

"Professor!" Harry called out, throwing himself into the supply cabinet. "Professor! Are you awake?"

"Harry, be careful!" Hermione called out, but it was no use.

Harry grabbed the body of Snape, and shook him, trying to get his attention. But the body lay inert, unconscious and unresponsive.

"Hermione, did you bring the potions?" Harry asked her.

"I did," Hermione answered, but hesitated. "But I wonder if it wouldn't be better to you know, take him home with us? I mean, we can then try and see if we can try to revive him there. It would be easier to get him to St. Mungo's from there as well."

"How are we going to get his body out of here?" Ron asked. "Filch will get us for sure."

"I brought the cloak," Harry volunteered. "I came prepared."

"Do you realize what this means?" Hermione asked, excited. "He's still alive!"

"But under who knows what spell," Ron protested. "And those wounds on his neck still look pretty fresh, and they were made four months ago."

"Is it some form of stasis?" Hermione asked. "I will have to research this."

And so, four graduated Gryffindors levitated and moved the unconscious body of their former potion master down the hallways of their school, to the floo, and then tucked him into the spare bedroom that had been so recently cleaned by Draco.

As soon as they got Snape home, Hermione removed his robes and started inspecting his wounds. "He needs to be thoroughly washed and cared for," Hermione said.

"Let me," Harry told her. "I'll do it the easy way." Harry transformed Snape's clothes into hospital pajamas, and did a cleaning spell that quickly scrubbed off the dirt and smoke from the battle that still clung to him. "It's not as good as a real bath, but it will be enough for now."

Nodding, Hermione loosened the neck of the pajamas and inspected the wounds closely.

"These were made by the snake," she confirmed. "Just like Harry said. I think the poison has kept the wounds open and weeping."

"Can you heal it?" Ron asked.

"I'm not an expert," Hermione admitted. "This is getting beyond us, Harry. Should we go to St. Mungo's?"

"Let's try what we have," Harry said. "If it doesn't work then we'll go to the hospital. I would rather let Snape be in charge of his re-emergence if we can do it for him. He's been in stasis this long, do you think waiting one more night will hurt him?"

Harry wondered at his reluctance to involve professional healers, surely when they found the body they should have gone straight to St. Mungo's. But he felt this reluctance that he couldn't explain, and he could see the others felt it too. This felt like it should be kept private, secret.

"Probably not, we'll do what we have," Hermione nodded. "Draco has made all the potions that we thought we might need. Ron, fetch me the kit I have in my room."

They worked most of the night on Snape. Hermione forced the unconscious figure of Snape to take potion after potion, having the boys hold him in place with his head tipped back and pouring the potions down his throat. Luckily he still seemed to retain his swallowing reflex, so they were able to get the potions down him.

Hermione also employed a venom-sucking poultice as well as venom-neutralizing salves. Sometime around down his flesh began to look less open and weepy, and had begun to close a little.

"We should get some rest," Harry told her. "I think you're at a point now that he just needs to heal."

"We can try waking him tonight if he's better," Hermione told him, wiping her face with the back of her wrist. "I want to do a bit more research before we do too much more. And it would be cruel to try and wake him before he's mostly healed."

"I think it's looking good," Harry told her, gesturing to the wounds on his neck that were slowly knitting together. "It wasn't doing that with the venom there."

"I think I've mostly got the venom," Hermione explained. "Now it's just a matter of helping the body knit back together. It does worry me, however, about what has put him into stasis like this. I don't know if it was a spell or a potion."

"Given where we found him a potion seems likely," Ron reasoned. "But maybe you shouldn't put that wand away yet, mate. If it's a spell you'll likely need it."

"I agree," Harry said. "How about I stay in here with him and everyone else gets some rest."

"Let me stay," George insisted. "I'm the best rested of any of you lot. Besides, we'll need Hermione's enormous brain and Harry's enormous magic tomorrow. And whatever it is that Ickle Ronnikins does for the group. You tots need to be well rested."

"I won't argue," Harry agreed. "I'm going to leave a note for Draco and then let's turn in. George, do you want to send a note to your mum?"

"Should probably let the ol' warden know where I am," he agreed affably.

"Let me do it," Ron volunteered, keenly feeling the comment about him not being needed. "I'll send off an owl now."

Harry nodded, barely conscious, and went to write a note. He kept it short and direct, which is all his addled brain could handle.

Draco,

We got him. He's injured and unconscious but alive. Stay out of the guest room, we'll talk when I wake up.

Harry


	17. Chapter 17 - Explaining To Do

Harry woke at nearly noon, his body stiff from the day before. He quickly loosened up and then dressed, he didn't know what this day would hold for him. Before tonight he might be able to exchange words with a man that he had helped in signing his death certificate.

"You're up!" Hermione remarked brightly as he came downstairs. Everyone looked a little worse for wear, tumbled and sleepy, except for Draco.

Draco stood in the corner of the kitchen, glaring at the rest of them, but his clothes and hair were in perfect appointment. Harry wondered when he'd been able to resume his previous fastidiousness, but found that it made Draco feel more like Draco and less like the pathetic prisoner they'd rescued. Even his skin was beginning to look less pale. And now he looked ready to burst if anybody looked at him wrong.

"Nice of you to make it, Potter," Draco hissed. "Us house elves are waiting upon your pleasure."

"Thank you, Draco," Harry answered with a warning glare of his own. "I felt a lie-in was just what I needed this morning. Did George apologize to you this morning?"

Draco, feeling somewhat mollified that Potter had made George apologize to him, nodded. He was surprised by the apology, and to be honest didn't hold a lot of malice towards the red-headed lout. In some ways he respected George more for seeking revenge for his brother's death than these other wretched Gryffindors that just went around rescuing everybody. His revenge was just misdirected and not planned out enough. But he was still put out about not being included on the adventure, and left a note like he was the bloody housekeeper.

"I want to work on some of my brewing this afternoon," Hermione announced. "Draco, would you be available to assist me?"

"Of course," he said, glaring at Harry again. "It is nice to be of help."

"Why don't you get started preparing the ingredients that I have laid out?" Hermione suggested. "I'll be down in a minute."

Knowing he was being gotten rid of, Draco grumbled but obeyed. He could ask more during his equal hour at dinner. But for now he was the child, the house elf, and the obedient ward. It was enough to make him sick.

"He's doing much better, Harry," Hermione quickly explained. "His wounds are mostly closed and his flesh looks sound."

"So we are going to try and wake him this evening?" Harry asked eagerly.

"Looks like it," Hermione answered, smiling. "I did give him some reviving drafts yesterday, but they seemed to have no effect. We shall redouble our efforts tonight."

"How do you think he got in there?" Ron asked. "I mean, in that closet? Could he have crawled there after the snake's attack?"

"Maybe," Harry shrugged. "It would have felt like a safe place to him, he guarded those stores so carefully, there were probably more wards there than anywhere else. He could have revived for a moment, and maybe used a last little bit of magic to get himself back here and either cast a spell or quaff a potion."

"Did anybody notice a bottle of a potion he took on the floor of the cupboard?" Hermione asked.

The boys shook their heads, and Hermione said, "Well, I'll go back there then."

"You could send Kreacher," Harry suggested. "It would be much faster for him, he can apparate in and out and be back in five minutes."

"Good idea," Hermione nodded. "And I'll ask him to make sure nobody can get in the potions store either. There's no use letting Slughorn get in there."

"You do that and I'll go check on sleeping beauty," Harry told her.

Despite his flippant attitude, Harry was deeply concerned with seeing Snape. He was worried that they'd made the wrong decision regarding keeping him here instead of the hospital, he worried that Snape had somehow died, and he worried that it had all been a dream and they were actually no closer to finding out Snape's fate. Could his mind have tricked him and he actually had found Snape's dead body? He shook his head in frustration, he just wanted to see the man.

Harry went in the room and smirked at the sleeping George. He had dozed off on the chair that he had sat on most of the night, and Harry could hardly begrudge him the sleep. It had been a hard night on all of them. But he couldn't help but think that perhaps it had actually been sort of good for George - to be able to start reclaiming his life again. Shrugging, he turned towards Snape.

Snape looked far more vulnerable than Harry had ever seen him. Gone were his black clothes and bat-like robes, they were replaced by soft blue pajamas. He looked younger tucked up in that bed, almost as if he were not much older than Harry himself. His wounds had been treated and were mending, and his face had lost the snarky, angry glare that it always seemed to have.

"Severus Snape," he breathed, hardly believing that the man was laying there in front of him. This was the man that had mocked and teased him and had made his schooling miserable. _I also had suspected him of many horrible things as well,_ Harry admitted, looking at the man. "How could we have gone so long misunderstanding each other?" he asked. "How could you have been so horrible to me but have been a hero all along?"

"I am not a bloody hero, Potter," Harry heard an unmistakable voice answer. "Where am I?"

Harry, feeling his legs and arms go cold and his heart slam against his chest like a jackhammer, couldn't make a sound. The young man who had faced down Voldemort at the tender age of eleven was now barely able to speak to his former Potions Master.

FInally, he found his voice. "Professor?" he croaked.

"Obviously," Snape retorted. "Now answer the question."

"Number 12 Grimmauld Place," Harry answered, his voice trembling slightly. "My home."

"And why am I here?"

"We saved you," Harry stammered.

"Saved me from what?" he demanded, his hand going to his head. "I feel like I've been jumped on by giants. Well? If you can't answer simple questions, pray fetch someone who can."

"What's the last thing you remember?" Harry asked him, Snape's snarky words helping him get a grip on the swirling room.

"A battle? Maybe?" Snape questioned himself, sounding unsure.

"The final battle of Hogwarts ended four months ago," Harry rapidly explained. "During that battle Voldemort killed you using Nagini. You were bitten, and I found you just before you lost consciousness. You had a few last words with me and gave me your pensieve memories to explain what you never had words to tell me."

"Tell me it's not true!" Snape rolled his head in embarrassment. "Am I a Hufflepuff?"

"It was nice to finally know you weren't a bad guy," Harry replied defensively.

"I am a bad guy," Snape snapped. "Don't believe anything differently. Now, if that was four months ago, what has happened to me in the meantime?"

"Your body was missing after the battle," Harry told him swiftly. "Though there were bodies gone for . . . other reasons. But I just couldn't let it drop, even though my testimony of seeing your death got your death certificate signed. So my friends and I decided to do some research, and eventually we found you."

"Spare me Gryffindor theatrics," Snape sighed. "And so you found me unconscious and brought me back here to wake me?"

"That's the idea," Harry supplied helpfully. "We found you in your second potions storage cupboard."

"And nobody found me for _four months_?" he asked, incredulous.

"You must have cast something on the door," Harry explained. "Not even McGonagall could get it open, and Slughorn was right eager to get in."

Snape allowed himself a small smile then, at least that news was heartening.

"Hermione healed your wounds and dosed the poison," Harry continued. "She gave you that reviving potion last night, but it didn't seem to work."

"Wiggenweld or Grand Wiggenweld?" Snape asked, sighing.

"The regular one, I think," Harry answered. "I think she was going to try the grand one tonight."

"It sometimes takes a few hours to work," Snape snapped. "If you paid attention in class you would know that."

"But now you're awake," Harry told him, then hesitated. "Would you like to stay here or go to St. Mungo's?"

"How do you think I could possibly make that decision based on the information provided?" he snarled.

"What do you want to know?" Harry asked, his tone a bit more terse.

"Who lives here? What has happened since the battle? What is wrong with me? How did the war end? Who is still alive? That should be enough for now."

Harry took a deep breath and began to answer his questions. Snape, though injured and weak, still had a sharp mind and asked very pointed questions, interrogating Harry until he found the questions answered to his satisfaction. At one point, he took a deep breath and then said, "Alright, Mr. Potter, tell me about Draco."

Harry squirmed, not wanting the same level of scrutiny on that situation. "Well, er, I'm sort of his guardian."

"Guardian?" his eyebrow lifted in interest. "How did you manage that feat?"

"They were going to execute him," Harry hastily explained. "There is a war tribunal set up, and they've been executing the wizards they feel were dangerous because they don't use dementors anymore, and people are scared. They've been executing lots of dark wizards, including anybody that has the mark. They executed his parents that day."

Snape's hand unconsciously flinched towards the dark mark on his arm. "You've been exonerated," Harry assured him. "Draco said we should do that before we even considered finding you. He didn't want you in front of the tribunal."

"Very good," Snape answered, relaxing somewhat. "So how did you save him?"

"I invoked the rite of Familiari," Harry explained. "Hermione found out about it. It was something that families used to use hundreds of years ago with young wizards that were of age. It puts the wizard as having the same standing as a child, and under the family member's authority and discipline. The tribunal accepted because, well, because I am considered a war hero."

"I see. And how does Mr. Malfoy feel about this arrangement?"

"He's not happy about it," Harry admitted. "It's not easy for me either. But we didn't know what else to do."

"And have you endeavored to discipline him?"

"I have to," Harry admitted, blushing. "It's part of the rules. If I don't follow the rules, they will revoke the guardianship and he will be executed."

"Potter, you cannot save the world," Snape sighed.

"Well, I sort of did," Harry answered, laughing nervously. "But I just couldn't stand it, Professor. It's not like I like the prat, but I didn't want him killed either. I figured in a year or two we could probably get the rules relaxed, or at least the punishments."

"Punishments, Mr. Potter?"

Harry blushed. He really hadn't wanted to talk about this.

"Maybe I should go get Hermione . . ."

"Tell me," Snape commanded. "Quit trying to squirm out of it."

Harry sighed. "The Familiari rite has prescribed rules and punishments," Harry explained. "The tribunal insisted on having corporal punishments."

"You're caning Malfoy?" Snape asked incredulously.

"I use a paddle," Harry told him, shamefaced. "It's more humane."

"What in the world have you gotten yourself into, you foolish child?" Snape demanded. "Bring me whatever written material you have about this rite. And I wish to see Draco at once."

"He has this bracelet," Harry explained. "The ministry uses it to monitor Draco. It records everything said around him, and it monitors him for running away or trying to attack people. It can knock him out or put him in a body bind. But they can hear everything said except during dinner, when we're allowed to use a silencing spell around it."

"I see," Snape answered. "It can wait until dinner then. We should keep my presence here a secret for now until I decide what to do."

"Can I tell Ron and Hermione?"

"I suppose," he answered. "But I would prefer to be fully dressed first."

"Sir," Harry told him respectfully. "Sir, we've been taking care of you. And I believe that being in those pajamas will help us tend your wounds better."

"You are impossible, Potter," Snape snapped.

"Yes, sir," Harry answered with a slight cheekiness. "But before we do one more thing there's something that I must tell you."

"What is that, Potter?"

"I wanted to thank you for protecting me all along," Harry told him, emotion in his voice. "I wish I had known all along where your true loyalties lay. I'm sorry for misjudging you."

Whatever Snape had expected from the Boy Who Lived, this wasn't it. His eyes widened slightly, and he looked confused.

"Before you died," Harry told him. "I told you that you gave me some of your memories, enough to show me how you felt about my mother, and how you protected me."

Snape nodded, and then his eyes narrowed as his sharp mind made a few leaps. "How exactly did you get me exonerated, Potter?"


	18. Chapter 18 - With Salad Tongs

Hermione and Ron heard the crashes and the yelling coming from Snape's room, and looked at each other in shock. Racing each other up the stairs, the door flew open and Harry flew out of the room, with several pieces of debris following him. An empty potion vial smashed against the wall, sending splinters flying.

"HOW DARE YOU?!" they heard an irate potion master yell. "THE WHOLE MINISTRY?!"

"He's awake!" Ron exclaimed in excitement, and then looked at the smashed vial dubiously. "He woke up pretty grouchy, though."

Hermione, however, took a deep breath and withdrew her wand and entered the fray. "Professor Snape," she directed sharply in her best imitation of Madame Pomphrey and Headmistress McGonagall. "You will stop this at once. You are not well."

"HE, HE . . ." Snape ranted, barely able to speak.

"I know," Hermione soothed, reaching into her pocket for a vial but still keeping her wand drawn. "Here, Professor, you need a calming draught. You're overwrought."

Snape was so beside himself that he actually took the vial and quaffed it without even inspecting it for quality. He found his heart slowing and his breathing returning to normal, but the intense feeling of shame did not rescind for the intensely private man. He began to visualize the dark curses he would inflict on that horrible boy-man that would leave him screaming. And begging for mercy. And willing to offer up any of his own secrets to make up for his utter ineptitude and mishandling of the confidences Snape had chosen to share with him.

"Well he seems calmer," Ron observed. "But that smile he has gives me the creeps."

"Eloquent as always, Mr. Weasley," Snape growled.

"Now, Professor," Hermione asked in an officious voice. "Do you hurt anywhere?"

"There's a certain pain in my arse," Snape glowered at Harry.

"Do you need to go to St. Mungo's?" she asked.

"I think I am alright here," he told her stiffly. "I wish to think for a bit before I decide my actions."

"Do you require any potions at all?" she asked courteously.

"I will let you know what I require," he told her stiffly, making a visible effort to control his anger. "For now I believe I asked Mr. Potter for some reading material."

"I will fetch it at once, Professor," Harry answered.

"And I will bring you up some lunch," Hermione confirmed. "Do you remember our house elf, Kreacher? He may be in to check on you as well." Implicitly implied was, _And you shall not attack him._

"Thank you, Miss Granger," he managed to grind out.

"If you're well enough, perhaps you may join us for dinner."

"We shall see," he replied, raising an eyebrow. "This has all been rather a shock."

"I expect it has," she answered solicitously. "I will also let Draco know what is going on, but for the sake of the bracelet you shouldn't see him until dinner."

"That sounds fine," he agreed. "It would be nice to have some time alone to think before then."

"Of course," Hermione agreed. "Let us know if you need something."

"I would also appreciate getting my wand back, Miss Granger," he told her, his voice thin.

"Then I shall try to locate it for you, sir," she answered, her voice thin as well. "But for now, rest."

They went downstairs, carefully closing his door, and Ron turned to her in fear. "Are you mental, Hermione?" he asked. "Why didn't you give him his wand?"

"Not until we know he's not going to hex Harry," Hermione replied. "Did you see how mad he was? It's one thing to smash a potion vial, what do you think he would have done with a wand? Let's let him calm down first."

"I always thought you were the bravest of the lot," Harry whistled, following them downstairs. "But Hermione, I'm impressed. That took bloody nerve to stand up to him."

"We've faced down death eaters, Ron," Hermione told him. "We've defeated Voldemort. Why does Snape scare you two so much?"

"He's _Snape_ ," Ron replied. "I'd rather face Voldemort any day."

At dinner that night, Draco hesitated entering. He had been angry at not being involved and at the high-handed decisions that Potter was making about him and about him seeing Snape, but when the time came to actually see him, he had butterflies in his stomach. What would his former mentor say about his situation? Realizing that he couldn't hesitate any longer, Draco entered the kitchen. The normal jeers and conversation became quiet, and everyone's eyes were on the meeting of the two Slytherins. Draco found him forbidding even in his soft blue pajamas.

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape nodded to him.

"Professor Snape," Draco responded.

"I am happy to find you still in the world of the living," Snape told him firmly. "Though I understand your situation is less than ideal."

"Sir, do you know that my parents . . ."

"I do," Snape smoothly interrupted. "My sympathies."

Draco looked down, his face becoming clouded with emotions. He didn't know what to say.

"I daresay that you will weather this storm too," Snape told him gently. "The situation you find yourself in is most unfortunate, and we will have to see if there might be a better remedy. And we have much to discuss. It seems we just have this hour in which to do so."

"This is the hour I get to be an equal," Draco sardonically told his former mentor. "Although, I'm not sure how much of an equal I am without a wand."

"I am in full sympathy with that sentiment," Snape glared at Hermione. "May I have my wand back now, Miss Granger? I believe my temper is under sufficient control that I won't have to hex Potter. And I haven't smashed a potion vial in over an hour."

"You heard us?" Hermione squeaked.

"Of course," he answered smoothly. "When will you children realize that you cannot talk just outside a door like that? It is a wonder we won the war."

"Do you promise not to harm anyone in this house?" she asked firmly, regaining herself. "Wizard's Oath?"

"I give you my Wizard's Oath not to unreasonably harm anybody in this house," he agreed smoothly.

Hermione accio'd Snape's wand out of the silverware drawer, and the look of reproach he gave her would have melted a lesser mortal.

"Really?" he asked. "In with the salad tongs?"

"I thought it was a place you were unlikely to look," she told him.

"I suppose that it is," he conceded. Then, drawing himself up and setting his jaw as if he were about to endure an unpleasant task, he said, "First of all, upon reflection, I realize that I owe each of you a debt. If not for your efforts I would be stranded in stasis in my secondary supply closet indefinitely. It was . . . good of you to come looking for me. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Harry answered, meeting his gaze firmly. "We're happy to have you back, Professor."

"Let's not overdo it, Potter," he grimaced. "We were never the best of friends, and each of you knows me to be an unpleasant person. It must have been some group delusion that allowed you to search for me like you did. Or some manifestation of that legendary Gryffindor bravery that borders on the ridiculous."

"I think they were bored," Draco drawled helpfully. "They just wanted to sneak around Hogwarts after curfew."

"Tell me it didn't involve that infernal map and the bloody invisibility cloak," Snape breathed, rubbing his forehead and regretting his former promise not to hex anybody.

"I must not tell lies," Harry answered, his eyes sparkling.

"Very funny," he replied dryly. "Are there any other indignities I need to know about?"

"Did you see your chocolate frog card?" Ron asked, grinning. "Now everyone knows you're a war hero."

Snape endured looking at the card with aplomb, knowing that anything else would be less than tactful. But really? Everyone would know about him? This was almost as bad as the ministry seeing his private memories.

"Anything else?" he asked sardonically, placing the card down in distaste.

"You told him about you bathing and getting him into pajamas, right?" George asked, taking a bite of the lasagna they were eating for dinner.

"What?" Snape nearly shrieked.

"With magic, Professor," Harry tried to calm him, shooting a dark look at George. "I transformed your clothes."

With a wave of his wand, Snape attempted to transform his pajamas back into clothes. The pajamas wavered, and then turned a slightly darker color. He paled in realization that he had not been able to immediately transform his clothes. Even though his brain told him that an extended time in stasis was likely to affect his magic temporarily, it was still sobering.

"You're probably just tired," Hermione told him. "Give yourself a day or two to recover."

Snape, unconvinced, placed his wand on the table and his face became a mask of indifference. That frightened Harry most of all - he knew that Snape was having feelings so strong that he was resorting to occlumency to master them. Harry could sympathize, he couldn't imagine the horror that he would feel if he found his magic so weakened.

Snape took several deep breaths to regain his calm. Of all the people that could have rescued him, why did it have to be these three? "I would like to know everything you know about the current ministry, the tribunal, and Hogwarts," Snape told them smoothly, seating himself at the table. "Who would like to begin?"


	19. Chapter 19 - Family

A week later, Harry found himself fishing the paddle out of the drawer in his room. He knew better than to believe that Draco could go much longer without an appointment with the paddle, but it hurt him to do it. Draco was waiting for him, and Harry sighed.

"What are you doing with that paddle, Potter?" he heard Snape's voice behind him.

"I think you know," Harry told him.

"What did Malfoy do this time?" Snape sighed.

"He got angry about something, I'm not sure yet what it was, and he started throwing things at Ron," Harry told him. "Ron yelled at him, and Draco stomped out the front door. He made it down the block before the bracelet started alarming. I got to him before it knocked him out."

"I see," Snape replied. "I am worried about Draco."

"Me too," Harry confessed. "He doesn't understand that we have to survive this."

"It's killing him," Snape told him. "He has to be grateful to you for protecting him, and he has to obey you and submit to your punishments. It's one of the most deceptively wicked punishments I have ever heard of."

"It's better than the alternative," Harry grumbled.

"Is it?" Snape asked. "Draco is dying piece by piece. Any friendship that the two of you could possibly have is being destroyed by what that paddle represents."

"What friendship?" Harry asked. "He hates me."

"He doesn't hate you," Snape answered. "Don't you see that he respects you and is thankful to you. But that's wearing thin."

"What choice do I have?" Harry asked, almost a whine. "If I don't do it, they will take him away and kill him."

Snape looked at Harry, sighing. "This is much too big of a burden to place upon you," Snape said heavily. "How could it have come down to you being the one who saves Draco?"

"There was nobody else," Harry replied in a soft voice. To his horror, he found himself close to tears.

"Potter, I know that I'm not your favorite person," Snape told him softly. "But I think in these past weeks we have developed something of a mutual respect?"

Harry nodded.

"Then allow me to say that this is much too hard on you as well," Snape told him carefully. "A young man your age should be more concerned about his girlfriend than his ward. Does Miss Weasley know about your relationship with Draco?"

"She knows," Harry answered, looking away.

"Does she know the reality of you being his guardian for the next several years? That you take a paddle to him? That he can't be separate from you?"

"I haven't told her all the details . . . we mostly just talk at Hogwarts . . ." Harry shamefacedly admitted.

"What about after Hogwarts, would she want to marry into this?"

"I wouldn't think so," Harry admitted, looking down. Horrified, Harry realized he was close to tears. How did Snape know what he was feeling?

"Give me the paddle."

"What?" Harry asked, his eyes flying up to Snape.

"Think, Potter," Snape told him. "Was there anything in those rules that said you couldn't have a proxy? A babysitter? A tutor? You decided not to delegate the chore of punishing your ward, but it wasn't in the rules."

"You want to spank Draco?"

"I don't want to, Potter," Snape told him, resigned. "But it is infinitely more proper. I am his father's age, I have been in authority over him before, and I am in fact his Godfather."

"You're his Godfather?" Harry asked incredulously.

"His fourth or fifth," Snape conceded. "I think it was more a nod to my willingness to make an unbreakable vow to protect Draco. But as I'm sure the other ones are in no position to take care of the youth, I believe that I may be allowed to step up."

"Step up?"

"I respect what you've done," Snape told him firmly. "You have stepped in when no others did. Now let me share the burden, as it is too much for your shoulders."

"What do you mean?"

Snape sighed, subtleties were lost on Gryffindors. "I mean, Potter, that as my magic and my body heal, I intend to take back my former life. I am getting stronger by the day, I don't think it should be much longer. I have thought about asking for custody of Draco, with your blessing, of course."

"You would do that?" Harry asked, incredulous.

"I would," Snape answered, watching the youth carefully. Would Potter be relieved or saddened? Would he be threatened to Snape's claim on Draco? Would he miss the power?

Suddenly, the most unexpected of things happened. Harry let out a cry, and Snape found himself reaching for his wand, convinced the incensed young war hero would hex him at his suggestion. Instead, he found himself with an armful of young adult that was trying his best to wrap his arms around him. Snape staggered in surprise.

"Thank you," Harry breathed, tears coming to his eyes. "Thank you so much."

"Are you hugging me?" Snape asked in consternation. "I understand your relief, Potter, but surely it doesn't call for such drastic measures . . ."

"You don't have any idea how relieved I am," Harry breathed, having trouble managing his emotions. He pushed away from the Potions Master, a little ashamed at the impromptu hug himself. He had just been so relieved.

"Do try to control yourself," Snape told him sharply, but inwardly he felt relieved as well. If Harry wasn't on board with his plan, it would have made it much more difficult.

"I will try," Harry answered, surreptitiously wiping his eyes.

"Then I will go and discipline Mr. Malfoy."

"I need to come too," Harry told him. "I need to ask him which he'd prefer."

"Punishment is rarely the choice of the punished," Snape told him sardonically.

"So much has been taken from him," Harry told Snape. "He should have the choice."

"As you wish," Snape tilted his head towards the youth. "We shall ask him."

Draco waited in his bedroom, torn between rage and remorse. He had known better, and now that bloody paddle would be brought out again. He couldn't stand the shame.

Potter appeared in his room, followed surprisingly by Severus Snape.

Jumping up, Draco said, "Sir!" in addressing him.

"It seems this is not a pleasure call," Snape told him. "Did you have a sudden desire to get some fresh air?"

Draco reddened, looking down.

Harry interrupted, wanting to make sure that Draco could make the choice.

"Professor Snape has volunteered to be my proxy," Harry explained. "It will be your choice, but if you choose it, he will administer your punishment instead of me."

"You would do that?" Draco asked, relieved.

"Of course," Snape smoothly told him. "I am a more appropriate person."

"Is it allowed?" Draco asked, looking at them hopefully.

"There are no rules against it," Harry told him. "I had said I was the only one to punish you, but that was a rule I set up because I thought it would make things easier on you."

Snape continued, "In the times that these rules were set up it would have been considered fine for a ward's tutor or similar person to administer punishment. So Mr. Potter can authorize me to act in the place of your tutor if you wish it."

"Of course it is your choice," Harry told him firmly.

"I choose Professor Snape, of course," Draco said automatically, seemingly visibly relieved.

Snape nodded, expecting that response. Harry turned and handed him the paddle, feeling relieved himself.

"How many strokes have you decreed for this misbehavior?" Snape asked formally.

"Five?" Harry said, considering.

"Five it is then," Snape sniffed. "Mr. Malfoy, assume the position."

Harry turned to leave, but was caught by a glare from Snape. "Mr. Potter, surely you are not seeking to absent yourself from these proceedings? After all, isn't it your duty to ensure the well-being of your ward? What if I were to abuse my position?"

Blushing, Harry answered, "I wouldn't think you would."

"If you order it, Mr. Potter, the least you can do is endure watching it. It is rather harder on Mr. Malfoy, I should think." Snape wanted to make sure that there was still a cost to Potter, and still a good reason to sign over guardianship.

"You're right," Harry answered, turning back to the room. "I'll stay."

By the fifth swat, Harry had regretted his decision to stay. Snape's technique was, well, very professional. So much so that Harry had found himself wondering about how Snape had kept the Slytherins in line all those years. Harry cringed with every stroke, rapidly becoming greener as it progressed. Draco had endured it without complaint, however, though Harry could see his shoulders shaking in silent sobs by the fifth stroke. Harry felt ready to throw up.

"I will return the paddle to your room," Snape told Harry. "I believe your ritual is to spend time with the miscreant after his punishment?"

Harry nodded, and watched as Snape swept out of the room. He sat down on the desk chair weakly.

"It was a paddle, Potter, not the Cruciatus," Draco sneered at him, straightening his clothes and attempting to appear unaffected. "But Merlin, that man has a better arm than you."

"Has he done that before?" Harry asked weakly.

"Of course," Draco rolled his eyes. "Every Slytherin worth his salt gets walloped at one point or another. I was usually good at avoiding it most of the time, but I had it a few times."

"Was he, I mean, was it better . . ."

"Yes, Potter, it was much better to get whacked by Snape," Draco replied. "It hurt more, don't get me wrong, but still infinitely better."

"Do you like Snape?" Harry asked suddenly.

Draco snorted. "Does anybody really like Snape? I don't know, I respect him. He's protected me before."

Draco saw Harry glance at the bracelet, and he knew Harry was trying to be careful. "Is it true that he's your Godfather? I heard rumors in school."

"He's somewhere on the list of them," Draco admitted.

"I have no idea if he's willing or if the Ministry would allow it, but if it were possible would you want Snape to have guardianship instead of me? If you don't want it, I won't say another word. But if you do, I would try to see if we could make it happen."

"You would do that for me?" Draco asked, incredulous.

"Of course," Harry answered. "Snape will probably be a lot stricter than me, and I don't know what will happen to where you live, but . . ."

"You don't want to retain power over me?" Draco asked sharply.

"You don't get it, do you?" Harry asked, rolling his eyes at Slytherin suspicions. Did they never understand decency? Then, realizing he was saying this to someone who didn't really get such concepts, he said almost as he would to a child, "This was never about that. If I could have just testified and set you free I would have done that. Although some good has come from having you here, I must admit. Even George is doing better having you here."

"Then what was it about?" Draco asked, suspicious.

"It was about saving you, Draco," Harry told him simply. "It was about family."

 _Author's note: And so concludes our tale of Saving Draco. There will be two epilogue chapters, however, and will probably be posted by later today. Thanks everyone who is still with me in this story._


	20. Chapter 20 - Six Months Later

Harry burst into the Potions Laboratory seeking Professor Snape.

"Professor Snape!" he called. "Wait!"

"What is it, Potter?" he asked, resigned.

"I've come to stop you from punishing Draco," Harry breathed, he had obviously been hurrying.

"I believe you are too late on that account," Snape answered mildly. "So sorry."

"But, but . . ."

"And from what I understand it was quite deserved. He did not protest."

"I suppose it was," Harry admitted, shamefaced. "It was really very childish. But the problem is that I deserve it as much as he did. We were both fighting with each other just like we were twelve. I threw the first punch, and then when he attempted to retaliate the bracelet did the body bind thing."

"It took you a while to come to his defense."

"I was angry," Harry admitted. "I wasn't thinking clearly until I calmed down. I came here as soon as I was calmer."

"I see," Snape answered, putting down his quill and looking directly at Harry with a dark, intense glare. "But Draco is the one under the guardianship, not you."

"I know," Harry said, almost a whine. "I am so sorry to get him into trouble."

"I think you both got yourselves into trouble," Snape answered, his gaze steady. "It's just the punishments that are inequitable."

"Plural punishments?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Potter, you are a junior professor," Snape explained. "When the Headmistress found out that you had engaged in a fistfight with the teaching assistant that you and I share, she was quite concerned. As Deputy Headmaster, she delegated your discipline in this matter to me. I was going to come speak with you this evening."

Harry gulped, surprised. He hadn't even thought about the fact that he might get into trouble. "What will my punishment be, sir?" he asked.

"That will be up to you," Snape answered quietly. "You will have two options. One is the more traditional route, which includes a three day suspension and an official reprimand in your file, warning that future infractions could result in termination."

"That sounds pretty serious," Harry paled.

"It is," Snape confirmed.

"But you said there was another option?"

"The other option is a punishment more . . . equitable . . . with Mr. Malfoy."

"What? Oh." Harry paled even more and squirmed. "Um, really?"

"McGonagall has given her approval for either option."

"Would you . . . use . . . a cane, sir?" Harry asked, gulping, but trying to sound calm.

"I believe you deserve the same courtesy you extended to Draco."

Harry nodded, somewhat relieved. "How many, sir?"

"I believe eight would be reasonable," Snape answered calmly. "And I do not reduce the number for bending over my lap."

Harry blushed, hardly able to contemplate that idea. Is this how Draco had felt with him? But no, it was worse on Draco because it wasn't an older mentor doing this, but a young man his own age. Harry shook his head in sympathy for Draco, and once again felt a surge of gratefulness towards the potion master for ending the arrangement.

"Have you decided on which option you would prefer?" Snape asked.

Harry considered, but knew which one he was going to choose. Though the second option scared him and made his stomach flip and clench, there was something about it that also attracted him too. Something about Snape.

"The second option," he answered quietly.

Snape nodded, unsurprised, and transformed the quill on his desk into a paddle. Harry gulped when he saw it, and almost changed his mind. Was he really going to allow Snape to use that wicked looking paddle on him? And he had witnessed for himself how professionally Snape wielded that thing.

"Remove your robes and assume the position," Snape told him, raising up from his chair. "Over that table there."

Harry obeyed, feeling fear buzz in his ears. He removed his robes carefully, laying them over the back of a chair. Even though he was fully dressed underneath his robes, it still felt humbling to remove them. He then bent over the table in much the way he had seen Draco do six months before. His whole body felt alive with nervousness, he could hardly believe that this was about to happen. He had a flash in his mind of how Uncle Vernon looked when he was about to thrash him, and then firmly pushed those thoughts out of his head. This was something much different, he told himself.

"What did you do to earn this punishment, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked him silkily.

"I had a fistfight with Draco," Harry answered, his voice having the slightest bit of tremble.

"And why was that?"

"He made me angry," Harry admitted. "He was talking about a potion he was working on with you, and then he started bragging about how you were going to help him with his Potions masters, and I don't know. I snapped."

Snape nodded in understanding. "Count aloud, Mr. Potter," Snape told him, coming alongside him.

The first smack of the paddle took Harry's breath away, and he hissed in pain, took a breath, and then was able to say, "One." By the fifth smack, Harry's head was tucked in his arms, and it took him longer to be able to say the count. Snape waited patiently, however, and did not give him the next smack until he had counted the former one. Eventually, they got to eight, and Snape swung the last blow extra hard, right on his sensitive upper things.

"Eight!" Harry cried out, his voice thick with sobs.

Snape retreated from the desk, transforming the paddle back. "I will give you a few minutes to compose yourself," Snape told him calmly. "Then I would like it if you joined me for tea in my quarters."

"Tea?" Harry repeated, his voice hitching.

"Yes," Snape answered him. "I believe it was your custom to spend time with Draco afterwards, was it not?"

"It was," Harry told him, oddly touched by the man's following what he had developed with Draco.

Snape went to the next room and ordered tea, waiting for the young man to join him. He had been impressed with how Harry had accepted his punishment, and that he had allowed it. The young man was no coward, and he certainly had an overdeveloped sense of fairness that overshadowed even his sense of self-preservation. He acknowledged just how much this young man was not the boy he thought he knew.

Harry stiffly walked into the room ten minutes later, his breathing normal but his eyes rimmed in red. Snape cast a cushioning charm on the other chair opposite him and gestured to it for Harry. "Have a seat," he invited.

Nodding, Harry sat down and felt relieved that sitting didn't hurt his stinging backside any more. Without a word, Snape poured tea and gestured to a plate of biscuits.

"Thank you," Harry told him, accepting the tea.

"I'm glad you accepted my invitation," Snape told him, sipping. "How is your backside doing?"

"I'll live," Harry answered, almost managing a smirk. "But I had no idea a paddle could hurt that much. I thought it was more humane."

"The humanity in the paddle lies in the fact that it doesn't leave welts or marks," Snape explained. "Though it smarts, and might leave some bruising if wielded improperly, you will feel fine tomorrow. A cane or a strap lasts for days."

Harry nodded, and Snape caught the look of acknowledgement in that nod. The last piece fell in place in Snape's mind, Harry had been beaten before. Probably by his relatives, Snape couldn't think of anybody else that it could be. He took a breath, and then a sip of tea, and knew what he was going to have to say.

"You seem a bit short on Fathers, Mr. Potter," Snape told him carefully.

"Sir?"

"I have been thinking of the years I have known you," Snape told him. "It seems that much of what you have done is to try and find fathers, and they have all abandoned you."

"Sirius was killed!" Harry protested.

"And so was Dumbledore," Snape told him, arching his brow, daring Harry to remember. Harry did, and flushed.

"And so did your own father," Harry answered. "And the Uncle who had charge of raising you failed as well, am I right?"

Harry nodded, flushing an even brighter red.

"And I have also been thinking about the fight you had with Draco. I believe you were fighting with him because you were jealous."

"Jealous?" Harry repeated, incredulous.

"Despite what the law says about a child's independence," Snape told him. "Eighteen is over-young to be without a father, Harry."

Harry gasped, not only at Snape using his first name, but also on how clearly Snape saw him. Tears pricked his eyes, and felt so vulnerable and known. What was Snape going to do? He felt that the wrong word would crush him, that Snape could end him here if he chose to do so.

"I would like to invite you to have tea with me once a week," Snape continued, seeing the emotions on Harry's face. "It will give us a chance to talk. And, with your approval, I will ask McGonagall if I can take over your supervision on a more permanent basis."

"I . . . I would like that," Harry agreed. "But I don't want to . . . you know . . . "

"I doubt the paddle will be needful again," Snape assured him.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry told him respectfully. "I . . . don't know what to say."

"That's quite alright, Harry," Snape answered with almost a smile. "You've said enough."


	21. Chapter 21 - Epilogue

_This Epilogue is in two parts, the first part inspired by reviewer alpis1977. This one takes place between chapter 19 and 20. The second is the original epilogue, which takes place a few years later. Enjoy!_

* * *

The Headmistress sat down to her evening tea, and her floo roared to life.

"Headmistress," a very familiar voice intoned. "It is Severus Snape. May I come through?"

Whomever the Headmistress was expecting, Snape was not it.

"Severus?" she asked, astonished. "Yes, yes, come through."

Minerva drew her wand, just to be sure, and was astonished as the black-robed figure stepped through her floo.

"Could it be true?" she gaped, her childhood accent thickened in her shock. "Is it you, Severus?"

"It is I," he replied firmly. "And I am well."

"What happened?"

"May I sit?" he asked quietly. "It is rather a long story."

"Yes, yes, I'll get a spare cup," she directed, summoning a cup for him. "Please tell me from the beginning."

So Snape told her what he had figured out from the battle so far, of how he must have revived enough to put himself in stasis and hide in his second storage closet."

"That is why we couldn't open it," she acknowledged with a nervous laugh. "I was quite frustrated with you, you know."

"But you suspected nothing?"

"We both know that generally speaking that a wizard's spells will fade with their death," Minerva acknowledged. "I didn't know what to think. Part of me wondered if maybe you had become a vengeful ghost bent on keeping Slughorn out of your supplies."

"I would have done it at that," Snape acknowledged, a small smile.

"Tell me about your rescue, then," the Headmistress coached.

Sipping the tea, Snape had told her of the embarrassing rescue by Harry and company.

"The Marauder's map, Minerva!" he cried out, feeling the shame. "They levitated my unconscious body under that bloody invisibility cloak!"

Minerva, not being able to hold it back any longer, burst out in laughter. "Those original four marauders would have loved that!" she laughed, nearly in tears.

Snape, feeling a bit ruffled but also enjoying the easy companionship of the headmistress, managed to almost smile a bit himself. Serves bloody James Potter right that his creation would save the life of his enemy years later.

"So what are you planning on doing next?" Minerva asked, wiping her eyes that had teared up from the laughter.

"I have no idea," Snape answered. "My magic is starting to recover a bit, so I believe that I will be able to reclaim some of my old life."

"Of course you will come back to Hogwarts," Minerva told him. "Slughorn is really a disaster in the classroom."

"I was only here to watch out for Potter, you know that," he told Minerva directly. "He's old enough to take care of himself."

"Is he?" Minerva asked. "Seems to me that 18 is over-young to be completely an adult."

"Surely he no longer needs a babysitter."

"I am concerned about him," Minerva admitted. "I've invited him to teach here in order to help him stay grounded. He lost his own father, Sirius, and then Albus."

"Surely I could babysit him from afar to protect him from any leftover death eater threats?"

"Death eaters are the least of my concerns," she answered firmly.

"Surely there are still a few about?"

"The boy killed Voldemort," she told him flatly. "I'm not worried about stragglers."

"I suppose you're right," he conceded.

"I'm worried more about his emotional health. And I'm also thinking about Draco," she told him. "Listen, just teach a few years more, and Draco can take over for you after that. It is not good for anybody to be alone."

"I will consider," he nodded, touched what the headmistress implied - not verbally, but he could feel it firmly - she worried about him too.

"You have hated that boy for many years," Minerva told him softly. "It must be devastating to know that it was his stubbornness that actually saved you."

Snape looked away, not sure how to answer her. "I protected him," he answered simply.

"And you hated him," she answered. "You tried to make him pay for what his father did to you. You have many sins on your plate, Severus Snape, but I wonder if this might be the one you most regret."

Snape choked, feeling known and vulnerable. His carefully constructed persona was now completely seen by Minerva, and also judged. He began to panic a little.

"Do not worry yourself," she told him softly. "Your secret is safe with me. But as your penance I would encourage you to actually try and see who that boy really is, not through the lens of his father."

"My penance has already begun," Snape told her softly. "I was completely shocked by what he did for Draco. What he did for me feels like a fun prank, what he did for Draco took real courage."

"Is that making you rethink yourself?"

"Yes," Snape admitted. "He is not his father's son."

"Good," Minerva rapped. "Then you can take charge of Draco."

"How could I do that?" he asked. "I'm not even sure if I can access my bank accounts?"

"I doubt Harry counted that cost when he got into it," McGonagall shot back at him. "And you and I both know that this arrangement is good for neither of them."

"Touche, Madame," he told her, his face looking down. "I will consider how to broach this subject with him."

"I have one more thing I would like to say to you tonight, however."

"What is that?"

"I just want to say how thankful I am that you are back with us," she said quietly, her utter sincerity clear in her voice. "We lost too many good people in the war, too many. To get one back is astounding, to get you back is nearly unbelievable."

"Thank you, headmistress."

"So use this second chance to good purpose," she told him.

* * *

Harry had spent the morning putting things to right in his classroom, preparing for the coming students. Ginny had urged him to come home early so they could have some time alone in the afternoon while little James napped, and Harry smiled at the invitation. He would be busy enough when school started, it made sense to enjoy his flexibility now.

A knock at the door diverted his attention, and he smiled when he saw that it was Draco.

"Hello, Professor Malfoy," Harry smirked at him.

"Ha ha, Harry," Draco smirked back. "Although I must admit it will be wonderful having my own classroom after assisting you and Snape for far too long."

"It was nice of him to hold out until you finished the masters training before leaving," Harry agreed. "But how is that going to work with the guardianship? You still have a few years left on it."

"Snape is going to reside at Malfoy Manor for now," Draco explained. "He has his laboratory all set up in the basement, and is happily working on new potions. He says he's relieved not to be bothered with teaching anymore, but will help me if I need him. You had heard that Snape was able to get much of my family property held in trust for me until the guardianship is over?"

"I had heard that," Harry smiled. "I'm happy for you."

"They've decided to give me a lot more freedom as well since I am becoming an upstanding citizen and showing that I've been rehabilitated. I just have to check in with Snape once a day and he still has input on my decisions. He can still punish me technically, but he hasn't in a long while. You do know he took up the cane after gaining custody of me?"

"I didn't," Harry winced.

"Yeah, he thought the paddle was ridiculous for a man my age. He was right. Painful, but right."

"How's that going to work with you dating Astoria?" Harry asked.

"I believe we've worked it out to everyone's satisfaction," Draco answered enigmatically, and Harry tried not to be offended by Draco's handling of information around him. He had to remind himself that even though they had managed to come to an accord and even some level of friendship, the man was still a Slytherin. Draco sighed, and seemed reluctant to say something.

"Harry, I have something to ask you."

"Of course," Harry answered.

"We have set a date."

"Congratulations!" Harry enthused. "I'm so happy for you!"

"And I want you to be my best man."

"Really?" Harry asked, dumbstruck. "I mean, of course, but I am surprised. Do you really like me that much?"

"Of course I like you," Draco rolled his eyes. "What is this, a popularity contest among first years? You should know how I feel about our friendship."

"But you're never actually nice to me . . ."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Alright, you bloody Gryffindor. I like you, I respect you, and I am daily cognizant of the fact that I owe every minute of my bloody being to your idiotic Gryffindor bravery that caused you to not only take on the Tribunal but follow through with their distasteful dictates. You are no coward."

"Wow, Draco . . ."

"Don't get all mushy. That doesn't mean I'm going to give you a free ride."

"Of course not," Harry affirmed. "I wouldn't expect it."

"There is one thing too, that I never said to you."

"What's that?" Harry asked, mystified.

"I wanted to thank you. I mean, for all that saving stuff certainly. But for something more than that too. You could have saved me and made me a house elf and assuage your conscience. But you sought out more than that; you sought out trying to make me family. That is what made the difference."

"You're welcome," Harry told him softly. "When I think back on that time, after the war, we were all a little lost. I actually think that in the process of saving you and ultimately saving Snape saved the rest of us too."

"See? Bloody Gryffindor emotional outpouring. I just wanted to ask you to stand up at my wedding and now we're as mushy as spinsters at a Sunday School recital. Are you in or out on the best man option?"

"Definitely in."

"Good. I have one request for the wedding, however."

"What's that?"

"Get that hair of yours under control, you look like a crazed badger."

Laughing, Harry smoothed down his hair and smirked at the blond professor. In that moment, things felt complete.


End file.
